Owned
by speccy13
Summary: Finnick's story and the story of the rebellion, starting with the 65th Hunger Games. As a victor Finnick's life is no longer his own. Snow wants him as his puppet. The rebels want him to be a leader and a hero. Finnick just wants Annie.
1. Chapter 1

My father says that if any district parent doesn't teach their child some way to survive in the arena it is the same as neglect. It's tempting fate too much. Just asking for them to be reaped and die defenceless. So he has made a point of teaching me.

He had to be creative about it: weapons are banned in district 4. Luckily fishing tools aren't. As soon as I could walk and talk with any reliability he taught me to spear fish with a trident, taught me to gut the fish with knives. My mother taught me to make nets and to tie elaborate knots, although she would specify that she wasn't teaching me for the games. That she hoped I would have a chance to do something more with my life.

My father and I would watch the games together each year and discuss the tributes strategies while my mother frantically did housework and tutted disapprovingly. Somehow this made the barbarism of the games a little easier to swallow. At least this way, if the odds are not in my favour, my father knows he has done all within his power to bring me back home. I suppose that, at least, is a comfort to him. Even if it's not to my mother.

Tributes run in our family. My uncle, my cousin and my great aunt all competed. All were murdered on the fifth day of the games. I guess that is why my father is so worried; Just waiting for another Odair to be reaped, for another Odair to drop dead… On the fifth day.

Our house sits on the edge of the square so each reaping day I sit on the old bench my grandfather made and watch the people walk by. On reaping day they make interesting watching. Families huddle together as they jolly each other along as if, should one of them stray too far, their name is sure to be plucked from the reaping ball. Friends chatter, joking idly while trying to cover quivering lips. Some walk boldly, some scuttle and some drag their feet, kicking each loose stone.

"Hey, Finnick!" I turn and see Eoghan, decked out in his best clothes, leading his little sister to what, I assume, must be her first reaping.

"You're heading out early," I say.

"Sick of waiting," he replies. "Need to get it out the way for another year. Want to tag along?"

"Sure." I push myself off the bench and catch up with them. Eoghan's little sister glares at me and ducks down behind her brother. We used to tease her something rotten and always made her play the drowning victim in our games on the beach. She was a quiet little thing, thoughtful my mother would say, definitely not worth noticing.

"You feeling lucky, Odair?"

"Oh, the odds are definitely in_ my_ favour."

Despite there still being plenty of time the square is completely packed. The three of us sign in and Eoghan pushes his sister towards the rest of the twelves while we join the fourteens. She looks like she might protest for a moment then simply throws her arms around his shoulders.

"See you later!" she whispers and nervously runs away.

Eoghan rolls his eyes, unsuccessfully trying to shrug it off. I turn away from him; I don't want to see the look on his face.

If anything the wait is worse standing in the square. There is a hum of nervous energy that ripples through the body like a soft tide lapping at the edge of the beach. As the space gets tighter it becomes harder to see through the crowd. Still, I just manage to wink at Maeve Colligan, a haughty girl in our year who always comes out first in tests. She blushes and I watch in satisfaction as she turns angrily to her friend to complain about that arrogant, Finnick Odair.

The usual procedure commences; the chairs on stage are filled with victors and the mayor and Augustus Parke sashays onto the stage dressed in a scaly purple monstrosity of a suit. He always looks like a child's drawing of a tropical fish; his pouty mouth and his wide eyes popping ridiculously out his head. I always have a horrible feeling that this getup is for our benefit, as if seeing some enhanced fish-freak is going to make us feel any less scared.

Eoghan and I mouth the words along with the mayor's speech but fall silent and still as Augustus Parke approaches the first of the two large reaping balls. I watch the girls as they collectively hold their breath, waiting to see who is going to be picked. Maeve is hiding her head in her hands. Eoghan's little sister has a glazed expression on her face, almost as if she isn't there at all.

"Jeannie O'Brien!" Augustus calls. The crowd cheers and a girl is taken up to the stage. Augustus attempts some kind of awkward small talk that just sounds flat and ridiculous at such a time. Sensing the crowd's reaction he tries to grin, pushing his squashed mouth into something he would probably call a smile but it looks more like a grimace.

When no volunteers opt to take Jeannie's place Augustus shuffles across to the ball containing the names of all the boys of district 4. My name is in there three times. I watch his carefully manicured hand as it rifles through the tiny pieces of paper seeking out the exact right one. As he pulls it to the surface my stomach give a final, uncomfortable lurch. Perhaps, I shouldn't be surprised when he calls out my name.

"Finnick Odair!"

But no amount of preparation can tell you how to cope with the shock.

A salty breeze sweeps through the square and all eyes turn to watch me. The rest of the fourteens clear a pathway and I have no choice but to strut to the stage in a poor imitation of the confident tributes I have seen in previous years. I am vaguely aware of the crowd cheering so I nod to them, wave, and even give a bow but all the while I'm searching through the faces trying to find my parents. As I mount the stage steps I finally see them. My mother is clinging to my father, some might think it was in fear for me but I can see the fire in her eyes, see the whiteness of her knuckles as she clutches him. For a moment my smile slips away so I turn from them to the girl tribute at my side.

Jeannie O'Brien is eighteen, tall with spectacularly red hair. I had seen her before in school, down on the beach, sat on a bench in town. Always alone. There are always rumours about her but I never pay too much attention to them. We shake hands, her grip is tight and for a moment I worry she won't let go. A slight tremble runs from her arm to mine.

"Jeannie?" I whisper.

Her hand snaps back and she defensively crosses her arms across her chest. I notice how muscular her arms are. That kind of toning that only comes from training. So why so scared, Jeannie O'Brien?

The mayor gestures towards the justice building and we both follow the peacekeepers inside, the crowd roaring triumphantly.

I don't follow the twists and turns the peacekeepers lead me down before I reach the small room. Even when they close the door on me and leave me alone my mind is still struggling to catch up.

I remember asking my father once what he thought it would be like sitting in the justice building and saying goodbye to everyone you love. He just told me that if I was ever here it would not be goodbye, that I would be coming back. One thing I never considered was how easy these things are to discuss and prepare and how difficult they are live through.

Automatically I reach for the piece of rope I keep in my pocket and begin twisting its familiar coils through my hands. I don't have to think about what I am doing which is good because I can't think of anything.

The door slowly opens and my parents emerge. Both their faces are red, tense; I can tell they have been fighting. Wordlessly they join me on the sofa; one sat on either side of me and they each place a hand on my knees.

"You-"

"I know what to do," I say, cutting across my father's words.

"Don't you forget-"

"You've got me so well trained I don't think I could ever forget."

He shakes his head, "Just don't forget who you are."

"How could I ever forget that?"

"Just don't, all right?"

He pats my leg and moves away from the sofa, walking over to the window where he stares out towards the sea. He doesn't need to say anymore, we both know what the other means to say. Still I had expected him to say more- drill strategy into my head one last time, say he was counting on me to come back, that he will miss me. But he doesn't. The words just aren't there.

I turn to my mother. Tears are silently running down her cheeks. I take her hand in mine and gently smooth it.

"You're too young," she tells me.

"I'll be a bit older tomorrow," I tell her, "And the day after, and the day after that. Who knows, maybe by the time I get to the games I'll be old enough."

She shakes her head as another wave of tears streams down her face. "And look after Jeannie, you two have to stick together now."

"I'm sure she can look after herself."

"At least she'll help remind you where you're from."

The peacekeepers open the door so I hug both my parents goodbye and my mother kisses my forehead. Then, they are gone and I return to tying knots.

I don't know why my mother asked me to look after Jeannie, she is my rival, after all. Besides, she is older than me; there is no way she will be looking to a fourteen year old for help and advice.

The minutes slowly tick by and my hands subconsciously make a noose. I have it slipped round my neck like a necklace when Eoghan peers into the room.

"Oh sorry, you busy?" he smiles, "Maybe I should come back later…"

I take the rope from around my neck and untangle the noose, stuffing the rope into my pocket. "Nah, just practising. For the arena"

"Sure." Eoghan awkwardly shuffles from one foot to the other, searching for the right words to say. "You looked good out there. You been practising your tribute face?"

"Every day in the mirror. Think I might greet the cameras at the train station with this one," I throw my head back and pout moodily. "Get the ladies swooning."

"Do that any more and you'll give Augustus Parke a run for his money."

"Oh no, you've figure out my strategy. I was hoping that if I out fish-face my escort they would force us to switch places."

"Maybe next year, eh?"

"Here's hoping…"

A difficult silence falls between us.

"I'll see you around, yeah?" I say. There is no way I can conceivably say goodbye to my friend.

"Yeah, sure," he replies.

Awkwardly we pat each other on the back and he backs out of the room before either of us says something too much.

Left alone again I walk over to the window and stare out, just as my father had done. The sun is beaming down. Birds are swooping lazily over the endless stretch of water that glistens in the afternoon light. No matter where I go, no matter what happens, District 4 will be right here waiting. Life will still continue as sure as day turns to night.

"I'll be back," I whisper, "Even if it means making sure the games only last four days."


	2. Chapter 2

**AN- Hi reader (dorky wave), I have decided to challenge myself to post a chapter a day for the next couple of weeks as it's the Easter holidays and I'm really enjoying writing this story. So expect lots of updates and I h****ope you enjoy this chapter.**

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><p>Tributes, it seems, spend a lot of time shut up in rooms waiting to be directed somewhere. First there was the small room of the justice building and now my train compartment. They just herd us from one prison to another. If I had a choice I would be kept constantly busy. Time to think is time to doubt. They could at least provide some sort of entertainment.<p>

Rather than just sitting contemplating my possible doom I slip out of my compartment and follow the corridor to the end where I hear voices chatting quietly.

I push open the door and peer inside. The walls are covered with elaborate carvings showing sea creatures and mermaids and ancient boats being tossed on stormy seas. The carpets are flecked with green and everything has an eerie look of home without any of the warmth or the smells. The air tastes stale without the sweetness of the salt carried in by the icy wind. Mags and Hollis, the two victors who will be mentoring me and Jeannie in the games, are sat in two of the plush armchairs over the far side of the room. They turn to look at me expectantly.

"Sorry," I mutter, "Augustus told me to stay in my room but I-"

"Feeling lonely, eh?" Hollis says, he doesn't look at me, though. He won the games about six years ago. He had set up traps all over the arena and one by one caught his victims and gutted them like fish with a knife. His father was a surgeon and even though he is victor he followed in his footsteps, amputating damaged limbs and generally rooting around inside the body. I'm not sure that's the kind of talent the capitol expects of a victor but I guess it comes in handy. I know I would never have the stomach for it. He is a little too familiar with human anatomy for my liking. It seems there is a fine line between killing and curing.

"You don't mind if I sit here, do you?' I ask as I drape myself across the sofa, putting my feet up on its arms.

"Course not," Mags says. "Not that it would have stopped you if it wasn't" I don't think I've ever seen anyone look so old. Most people would have died long before they reached her age. I suppose it can't be that bad, being a victor. She gives me a toothy grin. "Would you like a drink?"

"Double scotch on the rocks."

She looks me up and down. "How about some milk?"

"Suppose you plan on giving that to me in a baby's bottle as well."

"Seems fitting."

I frown, I'm not going to get anywhere if everyone just sees me as some dumb kid.

"I'll have the scotch," Hollis says.

As Mags gets the drinks I look round the compartment some more. Hollis shifts in his chair, struggling to get comfortable. I notice dark circles under his eyes and that his eyes are bloodshot. For someone in his early twenties he looks surprisingly middle-aged.

Mags hands me a glass of milk and I set it down on the table. Hollis sips at his scotch and an awkward silence spreads across the room.

"So... What now?" I ask.

"Just try to relax," Hollis says as he stretches out in his chair, still struggling to find the right position. "No point getting all pent up about it." The hypocrisy of this statement is not lost on me. If anyone is pent up about this year's games, it's Hollis. He glances my way a moment, probably for the first time. His eyes widen a little. "You been training?"

I nod.

"Not bad, not bad," he turns to Mags, "maybe this one's worth the time." he turns back to me, his eyes weighing up my features. "What do you train with?"

"Net and trident, mostly"

"A fisherman's boy, eh?" he's still looking at me, sizing me up. My skin crawls but I try to hold his gaze.

"Leave the boy alone, there's plenty of time for this when we reach the Capitol."

"Better to be prepared." Hollis and I say together.

Mags chuckles, "just don't get too obsessive about it, sometimes it's better to just follow your instincts."

A clock chimes. "They'll be replaying the reapings," Hollis mutters. He takes another sip.

I jump to my feet. "I'll go get Jeannie; we can all watch it together."

As I walk down the corridor I soon realise that I have no idea which room belongs to Jeannie or even which room belongs to me. All the closed doors look the same. I walk all the way to the end of the train and turn back again.

"Jeannie!" I call, "Jeannie?"

A door opens just behind me; I swivel round and see her stood in the doorway. She is wrapped up in the blankets from her bed but she shows no sign of having just been asleep. Instead she looks like something of a blank canvas, as though she is incapable of any expression at all.

"What now?" She says dully.

"We're going to watch the reapings on television. Do you want to join us?"

Her eyes search my face as if looking for some hidden agenda, "Ok."

Mags and Hollis appear from the other apartment. Hollis, unlike when he saw me, gives Jeannie a very definite look that I can't quite interpret. She slips a little further behind me, away from his gaze.

Mags leads us into the compartment with the television and we assemble on the chairs just as the anthem starts and the recap begins to play. Jeannie sits so close to me she is practically on my lap. I shuffle out a little to give her more room.

"Ready to meet your allies?" Hollis asks as the coverage from District 1 begins.

There is something of a ruckus when six boys volunteer at once. The commentator praises district 1 on having so many brave young men. They all look pretty brainless to me. After much debate it is decided that an eighteen year old boy called Nova should be tribute and he proudly steps up to the stage and beats his chest like an overgrown gorilla. He is joined by a slight feline looking girl who stares down the camera as though the whole world is beneath her. She is probably about sixteen.

Hollis nods approvingly. Something makes me think he would rather be mentoring the District 1 tributes than us.

In district 2, there is a similar story although the boy, Agrippa, looks smaller than Nova and slyer. There is no way I would ever be able to trust him. The girl, Rook, is probably as big as Agrippa and flashes a triumphant grin. As the two shake hands I just make out Rook mouthing 'I'm going to beat you, Agrippa'. The commentator laughs about how competitive the games are becoming.

"It is a good haul, this year." Hollis says, "Looks like you'll be playing with the big boys." He nods to me. That's when I realise that I am going to be by far the youngest of the career pack.

I pay less attention to the terribly pale tributes from District 3 who both look as though they have never seen the sunlight and that they might break down at any moment.

The replay moves swiftly on to district four. Before Augustus takes the slip out of the girl's reaping ball the camera sweeps over the group of girls that are assembled. My eye soon picks out Jeannie. She is stood at the edge group at the front with the other eighteens. She stands right by the rope turned to face the stage steps as though poised to go up them. As Augustus calls her name, I am struck with how calm she looks, how there is not a single glimmer of surprise. It's almost as if she knew.

I look at Jeannie by my side. She has turned away from the screen and is closely studying some blisters on her hand. I keep my eyes on her as the screen shows my reaping; the commentator makes some comment about me that I don't quite hear. Jeannie still doesn't look at me.

The rest of the reapings go smoothly and without much of note. There is a girl from 10 who is only twelve and a couple of thirteens but mostly the tributes are over sixteen. I am in no way the smallest, though, so at least I won't look ridiculous. The last thing I want is for anyone to think I'm easy pickings, to under-estimate me because of my age.

When the recap is over Mags gets to her feet, "Well there you go," she says. "Time to get some sleep." She shuffles from the room and Hollis follows her, turning back to offer us a final nugget of advice.

"Don't worry about them too much, the games always offer a few surprises, maybe you'll get lucky."

When we are left alone I turn on Jeannie. "You knew you were going to be reaped."

She shrugs.

"How?"

"It's got nothing to do with odds. It didn't take a genius to work out."

"What do you mean?"

She shrugs again. "They want me dead." She says it so casually it takes a while for the words to sink in.

"What!" I choke out. "But… why?"

She takes in a deep breath. "I guess there's no harm in telling you, we'll both probably be dead in a matter of weeks."

I feel a little insulted that she doesn't think I have a chance in the arena but I bite my tongue and let her continue.

"It started a couple of years back. My father has a printing press. He used to print the Chronicle each week and would sometimes write a few articles when he had the time, he likes writing, you know.

"Anyway, one day we get a knock on our door and a whole group of peacekeepers are there. They arrested my father and smashed the printing press. I didn't understand what was going on at the time but it turns out my father was part of some underground group who was passing anti-capitol messages between the districts. They said there were some codes in the Chronicle and everything.

"They let him live but they took away our livelihood and I guess they are still looking for ways to punish him. It didn't take much to know my name would be pulled out of that reaping ball. I'm only surprised they didn't think of it before."

"You could still survive the games."

She shakes her head, "No, they will make sure I won't. I'm all my father has left. They will use this to break him."

I don't know what to say. There is nothing really to say. My mind drifts to the three Odairs that came before me. Has the Capitol got something against my family too or is it really just a coincidence?

"How about you," she asks, "You got some sob story?"

"No, not me," I say. "Not yet, anyway."


	3. Chapter 3

I stand there bollock naked as they stare at me.

"Shouldn't you at least buy me dinner first?" I quip.

No one laughs. They are too busy discussing my eyebrows.

Although both Mags and Hollis had warned us about the make-overs I honestly did not expect them to be this brutal. The team spent the first five minutes excitedly singing my virtues then the next hour changing them.

"Don't worry, Finnick, we'll get rid of that awful fishy odour you have."

"It must be such a relief to finally get a chance to look refined."

"Once you're done you'll look so good you could even be from the capital itself!"

"Gee... thanks." Was all the response I could muster.

They sat me In front of a mirror as they cut my hair, plucked my eyebrows, stripped me of all body hair and bleached my teeth. By the end of it, I am pretty pleased with the results. The haircut makes me look older; the whiteness of my teeth makes my smile dazzling.

"So when do I get to wear clothes again?"

"Marius will be here shortly," one of them coos as she strokes down my shoulders.

I dread to think what I will be wearing for the opening ceremonies. It is always something of a joke. Last year the tributes from district 4 wore seaweed and looked like two sea monsters come to attack the capitol, their faces no longer even distinguishable.

Suddenly the doors burst open and a man wearing a peacock feather suit barges in. His face is tattooed with small eyes so he appears to have three extra sets, all in different colours, all with different eye shadows and tiny eye lashes tinted multiple shades. I have never seen anyone look so freakish.

He grips his nose with two of his fingers, "My migraines are terrible!" he declares. "The games are _so_ stressful!"

The prep team flock to him and begin rhapsodising about how terrible it is for him with the whole of Panem waiting to see his latest design. They fuss, they console, they fluster. None of them pay me the slightest bit of attention until suddenly Marius clasps his hands together.

"Who is this handsome young man?"

Great. He hasn't even bothered to learn my name.

He rushes to me and walks round me several time, pawing at bits of my body and making sudden loud exclamations. "Look at that! Oh my! I'm going weak at the knees!" Then he jumps up and down excitedly clapping his hands manically like a wind-up monkey. "This is going to be the best games ever!" he squeals.

He turns to a member of the prep team. "Change of plan! Less is definitely going to be more!" The woman nods and scuttles off out of the room.

Marius approaches me. "Now…. Tribute."

I roll my eyes, "My name's Finnick."

"I'm going to call you, Tribute," Marius says hurriedly. "Now, there is no time to waste. I have a delightful little number designed just for you. You are going to be the talk of the ceremonies- obviously because I designed it. Anyway I have decided to make you look like a dashing, a mysterious, dangerous, a seductive…" he purs as he says the words. "A simply gorgeous fish!"

"A fish?"

I immediately think of Augustus Parke- the scaly suit, the lips, the eyes…. I groan. This is not going to go well.

"You're going to look stunning!"

"A fish?"

The woman reappears with a bag on a hanger. Marius unzips it and starts another clapping and jumping frenzy. He dramatically unzips the bag and pulls out my costume. The prep team applause and he bows and gushes and pretends to be embarrassed.

From what I can tell I will be wearing a pair of slimy looking silvery shorts and a bit of netting. Great.

"There's no time to waste, make up is calling!" Marius tells me shoving me back towards the chair I had only recently vacated.

The prep team come at me with sponges, covering my entire body with glittery powers, swirling in greens and blues and silvers as another brandishes a paint brush. Once I am completely covered I am finally allowed to be clothed in the shorts and they artistically drape the netting across my shoulder.

"Spectacular!" Marius proclaims as he slips a coral headdress onto my head.

They direct me to the full length mirror that stands in the corner of the room. It is hard to take in the whole picture at first. I don't look anything like myself. Across the surface of my skin ripples of silver seem to shine, the same way fishes catch the light as they swim just below the clear water of the lake back home. Even the netting shimmers. I look like some unearthly being who has stepped out of the ocean. I am reluctant to say it but even I am impressed. I no longer look human but I am stunning.

Really I want to stay looking in the mirror longer but once again I am swept away to a reception room. A pair of doors to my right swings open and Jeannie, dressed in a short skirt with netting across her breasts and the same glimmering body paint, joins me. She keeps tugging awkwardly at the bottom of her skirt, a frown on her face.

"See you got a similar get up," she says. "Well it's all right for you."

"What do you mean?"

"You actually look all right in it." She tugs at the skirt again, one arm placed firmly across her bare stomach. "Just look at me! I can't wear this!"

"You look fine," I tell her, "Just relax and no one will notice."

"You look gorgeous," her stylist assures her in a bored voice before running across to talk loudly about how tributes really have no idea about fashion.

We are whisked down to the bottom floor of the Remake Centre and are pointed towards a chariot that is to be led by four white horses near the far side of the stables. All around us the other tributes are having final adjustments made to their costumes. I see the traditional tree outfits for district 7, two tributes dressed in nothing but yarn to illustrate district 8- textiles and a pair of pathetically flickering caped outfits for district 5- power.

Some of the tributes I recognise from the reapings- the gold-clad district 1 tributes who look across at Jeannie and I with narrowed eyes. Nova looks even bigger in person, towering over the girl at his side.

As we pass the different groups we get lots of glares. Jeannie begins tugging at her skirt again, rushing as fast as she can towards the safety of the chariot whose high sides offer her some discretion. The girl from district 8 has her mouth open in a brilliant impression of a fish, her eyes following me as I walk. I give her a wink and she turns away, scowling. I also catch the girl from 11 looking and I nod to her. The boy from 7 is also having an eyeful so once I reach the chariot I dramatically blow him a kiss. "Have that one on me!" I call to him.

Jeannie shakes her head at me, "You're loving this."

"What's not to love?" I step onto the chariot and several pairs of hands reach out and adjust what I am wearing, repositioning my head-dress, pulling at the netting, smudging in some of the makeup.

Mags and Hollis stand by the horses. "Try to enjoy it," Mags advices, "you'll go down with the crowd better that way. Jeannie can you stand with your hands by your side?"

Jeannie shakes her head and exchanges a look with a Hollis.

"You can't go on like that," he says. "You need to look strong."

Jeannie takes huffs and puts her hands by her side. The minute her stomach is exposed I see the scar. It runs all the way down the middle of her stomach and the makeup doesn't hide it well, if anything it seems to emphasise the long straight line. She notices me looking and turns her body away from me.

"That's better," Mags says kindly.

"Now, while you are out there really try to work the crowd," Hollis says. "You want them to remember you. The pair of you being moody isn't going to make our job any easier. "

A man at the front of the stables gives a signal and Mags and Hollis step back out of the way of the horses as the opening music begins. The large doors slide open and before I know it we are being pulled out of the Remake Cente onto the crowd-lined streets behind the district 3 chariot.

The noise is phenomenal. It hits us from all sides. The sea of indistinguishable faces is overwhelming. I can hear people calling out "District 4! District 4!" waving at us as if we are old friends of theirs. I wave and wink and nod and flex my muscles, drinking in the cheers. On the huge screens I watch our progress, watch how the make-up glistens under the lights. Marius may be a clapping imbecile but it seems he might have done something right. Even Jeannie is amazed by it. She stares at the crowd in awe, taking it all in. She doesn't ever turn to look at me, though.

"Finnick! Finnick!" they call, clutching at their programmes. I look up into the lights, grinning so wide my cheeks ache.

As the chariots reach the city circle I can just about make out President Snow stood on his balcony. He isn't smiling like everyone else but is stood calmly overlooking the whole scene. My face flicks across the screen again as Snow gives his official welcome. I imagine my parents watching me back home and give an extra big grin, hoping they will see that I am all right.

"That's the bastard," I hear Jeannie mutter under her breath. She stares at Snow throughout his whole address. If looks could kill then Snow would have died about hundred times in the first minute. "How dare he stand up there?" As the camera moves across to Jeannie she gives a sarcastic smile and waves. The president stares right over her to the crowd beyond, maybe he doesn't notice.

"What are you doing? Do you think that will help?"

"I'm dead anyway," she shrugs.

It doesn't stop Mags and Hollis berating her for her poor performance, though, when we return to the training centre.

"What did you think you were doing?" Hollis demands.

"Waving."

"Go easy on the girl, it's too late now, anyway," Mags says. "You should listen to us, though; we're only trying to help."

"Yeah, just think how many games Mags must have seen. She must be an expert," I chip in.

"Suck up," Jeannie sneers.

Mags grins at me a moment then turns sadly back to Jeannie.

"I just didn't feel like smiling, ok?"

"Let's go and take off your make-up." She says gently, leading Jeannie away by the arm.

Hollis has another drink in his hand.

"Didn't think you were much of a drinker," I say. Back in district 4 I had never seen him touch the stuff. Not once. He was usually too engrossed in his work.

"Things change," he says gruffly.

I follow him over to the table. "How long you been a mentor for?"

"Three years now- I took over from Sorely."

"Is it hard?"

He swigs from his bottle and lets out a satisfied sigh, "worse than the arena."

"What do you mean?"

He smacks his lips and takes another drink, "Shouldn't you be resting up for tomorrow?"

I take the hint and go to my room, my mind full of unanswered questions.


	4. Chapter 4

Augustus Parke comes to wake me before the training session but I'm already awake. I had been looking forward to today, having the chance to show all the other tributes exactly what I can do. Prove that I am not just some fourteen year old they can kick around.

"Your outfit last night was inspired," Augustus tells me.

"You should get one just like it," I tell him.

"You really think I could carry it off?"

"Sure, why not?" _You already look like a fish anyway, _I add in my head.

"Thanks, kid," he says and disappears.

Cautiously I face the showers, pressing a variety of numbers for the cleaning lottery. I end up stinking of sickly vanilla, my skin raw from the boiling water. In my room my training outfit has been laid out for me; a black jumpsuit with district 4 written all over it and some canvas shoes. I'll look like an escaped prisoner.

I reach the breakfast table before Jeannie and pile my plate as high as I can with the rich capitol food. I am going to need lots of energy for the training session.

Mags smiles across at me from the other side of the table. "We had lots of questions about you. Seems you made quite the impression last night. Took Augustus, Hollis and I a long time to satisfy them all. "

"What kind of things were they asking?" I imagined heated debates about just how lethal I was, questions about the weapons I used, how much training I had done. What I had done to become the most deadly tribute any of them had ever seen in the opening ceremonies.

"Well one guy asked about your hair. It's naturally that colour isn't it?" Hollis replied flatly, clearly bored by the whole thing.

My heart sinks, "Is that all?"

"Not just your hair- your makeup, how you got such a 'hot bod', your favourite colour, your star sign, your age…"

"But I thought it would be less…"

"Shallow? That's the capitol for you."

"The good news is we should have no trouble finding you sponsors," Mags says gently.

"But I don't want sponsors- not like that. I want it to be based on things I've done, not what I look like."

"Then you've got the next few days to prove yourself."

Jeannie walks over to us; a smear of silver paint from last night still remains just above her eye. She is red faced and has clearly been crying. As soon as she approaches the table Hollis mutters something about needing to shave and shuffles away.

"What would you like for breakfast, dear?" Mags asks, handing Jeannie a plate.

Jeannie shakes her head. She doesn't even sit down just stays standing by the table. "I'm sorry- about last night," she whispers. "Do you think I've ruined my chances completely?"

"Of course not. There is still plenty of time left to dazzle them. Now we need to sort of your training strategies."

"Shouldn't we wait until Hollis is back?" Jeannie asks, wiping her eyes on a napkin.

"Hollis and I have already discussed it. You've both got to make sure you team up with districts 1 and 2; this is your best chance of surviving the first days of the games. You'll be expected to join, of course, but you still have to show them you're worth their time. Don't hold back in training- give it all you've got- Intimidate them. Don't waste your time on the survival stations you are familiar with already. All right? Now is a good time to talk to the other tributes, find out how they tick."

We nod.

"I know you are good with a trident, Finnick- what about you Jeannie?"

"Mostly blades."

Mags nods approvingly. "Good- you show them what you've got"

Augustus returns and leads us down to the training rooms where we join the circle of tributes. We all stand and wait for the final pairs to arrive and I take the time to look around the gymnasium, trying to locate the station where I can best show off my skills. There are so many stations, though, that it is hard to take it all in. So many ways to kill a person, it seems: Knives, bows, spears, poisons, traps, bludgeons, weights, knots….

As the head trainer gives her speech I turn to the other tributes. No longer dressed in the costumes of last night they are no longer hidden. I see hollow cheeks and protruding bones, see the circles under their eyes and puffy cheeks. I am thankful for my steady diet of fresh fish which has kept me in good shape. So few of the tributes look half as impressive as they did before. Only Nova and the boy from district 7 with their gigantic stature and build look in any way intimidating. I am surprised to note that I am taller than many of the others.

When the trainer has finished explaining the different stations everyone disperses in different directions.

"I'll see you later," I tell Jeannie. She nods and heads over to the station where I see row upon row of knives gleaming in front of some training dummies.

I still can't see the station where the tridents might be so I walk in the general direction of the weapons training. I see a station for spears and I had expected a trident to be included there but looking through the racks I see there isn't one so I move on to the station with swords- nothing. There is nothing with the maces and clubs, clearly nothing with the long distance weapons like bows and arrows. Nothing. With all the weapons in the armoury there is not a single trident. _Bother._

Just how am I meant to prove myself now? How am I meant to impress the gamemakers, get a high score and show the capitol I am more than just hair and makeup and clothes? More than just some attractive clothes horse. I look around frantically, certain I must have missed the tridents somehow. I hurriedly cross from one station to another, even peering hopelessly across the survival stations. Nothing. All those years of training, all that work my father put in and it will all come to nothing. I feel sick to my stomach, regretting my extra-large helping at breakfast. I want to run from the gymnasium and hide back in my room.

I must have been looking lost because the head trainer approaches me. "Looking for something?"

I notice that some of the other tributes have turned to listen to my conversation. It is enough for me to pull myself together again. I don't want them to see that I'm fazed so I turn my chin upwards. "Just looking around."

Part of me yearns to go to the knot tying station, to have something familiar in my hands but I know this won't help me. Remembering what Mags said I go over to the spear station and begin practicing. As it turns out I'm not bad with spear. My frustration gives fuel to my training and I furiously drive the spearhead into the training dummy with a menacing battle-cry.

"Nice spearing, district 4."

"The name's Finnick," I say, turning.

It's the boy from district 2. He's shorter than me, dark- haired with a sharp pointed face. I can see him sizing me up with his shrewd eyes. "I'm Agrippa," he says, offering me his hand. I take it and as we shake hands his fingers crush my hand with a vice-like grip. "I take it you'll be joining the pack?" he asks as he takes one of the spears.

"Nah, not me," I say, "I'm forming my own group. I already have me and Jeannie; you want to be part of the winning team?"

"Sure, Fin-nick," he spits, "Who else is joining your little group?"

"Don't know, I'm waiting for someone to impress me." I turn back towards the dummies and throw the spear like a javelin straight into the bull's-eye of a far off dummy. _Perfect. _I think. Agrippa's eyes widen just for a moment but he soon recovers his bored expression.

As I walk away I notice Agrippa replaces the spear he had been holding and hurriedly moves on to the next station. Scanning the rest of the gymnasium I notice Rook, Agrippa's district partner lifting weights. I remember how on the day of the reaping I had seen her mouth that she was going to beat Agrippa and I get an idea.

As she moves on to the next weight I stand over her, just within her sight-line. There is a look of concentration on her face as she struggles with the weight. Cheerily I smile down at her. I notice her eyes flicker across to me. She gasps and puffs as she heaves the heavy boulder upwards but she only manages to lift it a few inches off the ground- he eyes widening with the effort- then drops it, only just missing her food.

"Aw, too bad," I say.

"What do you want?" She growls.

"Nothing." I turn my back on her, "Guess what Agrippa said about you was right."

"What did he say?"

"It doesn't matter." I keep walking. She grabs hold of my arm, several assistants rush forward to pull her off me. "Don't worry," I say, brushing them all off. "It's fine."

"What did he say?" Rook says again.

"Just that there was no point in asking you to be in my pack as you're near to useless anyway. Dead weight."

"I'm not dead weight!" she insists. She bends down and lifts the same weight that she just dropped, this time she raises it to her knees. "I'm strong and I know how to fight."

I shrug. "Maybe next time."

She puts down the weight and steps towards me again but the assistants are on guard and step between us. "Please," she says, "Let me be in the group." There is a look of panic in her eyes and I realise just how dependant she is on being part of the group. How dependent we all are really. To turn away from the pack would make anyone who has an ounce of skill a target.

"I guess you can tag- along," I say, "Just, you know, try to be useful."

For the rest of the morning I alternate between a few of the stations. I catch up with Jeannie and tell her about our new allies. She watches Agrippa and Rook for a moment and nods mutely. At lunch time we sit with Rook, Agrippa and Nova and the girl from district 1, who is apparently called Velvet, join us. It is unspoken but I know they are part of the group. As soon as I got Agrippa and Rook on my side they had no choice but to follow. Of course the six of us were always going to end up together but at least this way I am not just some fourteen year old boy they have to abide, I am the one who brought everyone together.

Velvet sits next to me as we eat, leaning her body in towards me, making me feel claustrophobic. She holds her hands out under my nose, "Training is so tough on my hands," she says with a sigh. "They're as rough as bark." She rubs her hand across the back of mine. "Feel it Agrippa." She does the same to him, fluttering her eyelashes in what she clearly thinks is a seductive manner.

Rook grumpily folds her arms across her chest and Jeannie rolls her eyes at me but I try to ignore them. Let Velvet do her pathetic show if it makes her feel better.

Nova is holding a bread roll in his hands and is turning it over quizzically. "Why's it green?" he asks.

"It's the seaweed," Jeannie explains. "All the bread is like that in district 4"

"Oh." He quickly replaces the bread in the basket as though it is contaminated.

It is hard to find things to talk about at lunch. Now and then someone will ask a searching question to the group, not even trying to hide that they are looking for tactics. I answer as evasively as I can. I don't mention the trident but only that I have been training for years. Nova proudly tells us that his grandfather won the games some fifty years ago and that he had taught him all he knows. The conversation slowly becomes more and more violent as they all try to outdo each other in tales of their amazing feats. Implausible stories made up by scared children. I even throw in one of my own where I defeat a giant squid.

When lunch is over the group eagerly return to the gymnasium but Jeannie holds back.

"So what do you think of our new allies?" I ask.

"They're hideous," she says, "I hate them all."

"You heard what Mags said, though."

"I'll never be able to trust them."

"You don't have to. This is only temporary."

She pauses a moment, searching me, "I hate who you are when you're with them too. You change into a jerk."

I shrug, "They wouldn't like Finnick Odair."

"Well just don't forget who he is, OK?"

"I'll try," I say. I remember my father's words before I left district 4. Could it be that I am already changing? I think back about who I have been over the last couple of days, the waves, the cocky remarks, the outfits…. The question is, can I afford not to change?

Together we step back into the gymnasium and go our separate ways for the rest of the training session.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: A huge thank you to anyone who has taken the time to read this story so far. It is such a pleasure to write these characters and it is so much fun to share the results. An extra big thank you to those who have given me my very first reviews as a complete newbie any encouragement or advice is much appreciated. **

**I feel a bit like a Gamemaker today as I have been furiously planning the games for this fic. They should be pretty exciting (fingers crossed). **

* * *

><p><em>Crash! <em>At first I think it is the front door slamming as dad heads out to the boat. Then I remember where I am. I sit bolt upright in bed, clutching the blankets to my chest.

"For goodness sake, Hollis!" Mags shouts from outside. "Pull yourself together."

"I can't do it. I'm going back home," he slurs. There is another thud and the door to my room shakes.

"You can't go now."

I get out of bed and creep over to my door, gently, silently pulling it open. They are both stood out in the hallway, Mags in her dressing gown, her hand on Hollis' arm. He carries a small suitcase. Just behind them a vase lies in pieces. This is what the crash must have been.

"Why not? What difference does it honestly make?"

"I thought you wanted to get away from District 4."

"I did. But I can't. It's still here- it's impossible to get away. I can't face it anymore. "

Mags grabs hold of both his forearms, firmly, as though restraining him. "You can do this, Hollis, you've managed worse."

"Well maybe I don't want to manage anymore." His voice cracks. "I'm sick of managing, sick of getting by, sick of making do. I just want to let it go- let it all go." The suitcase falls out of his hand and slumps onto the floor. Mags wraps her arm around his shoulder and leads him away, whispering to him in a motherly voice.

I am just about to shut my door and go back to bed when I notice Jeannie is also at her door. Our eyes meet and she shuts her door with a click. But I know I won't be able to sleep, know I won't be able to forget what I have just seen so I cut down the corridor and knock on her door.

"Finnick?"

She doesn't open her door completely right away but stands defensively peering at me. It's only when I ask if I can come in that she draws back, admitting me inside. She shuffles on to her bed, propping herself up on the pillows and I follow, perching on the very edge of the mattress.

"Do you think he'll leave?" I ask her.

"Maybe."

"Why do you think he- what happened?"

Jeannie lets out a weary sigh. "He won the games- that's what happened."

I don't understand it; don't know what she is saying. It just doesn't make sense to me. "What?"

"They give you a house, they give you fame and money, they let you live but they own you. Don't think you'll find happiness at the end of this. That's nothing but one of their lies. The happy victor's lives- they are just like everything else in the games- fake."

"Like you know anything about it."

"I know more than you!"

"But what if he goes?"

"Then I'm sorry." She pulls the blankets up over her legs and begins to lie down on her pillows, turning away from me.

"Why would you be sorry?"

"It's very late. You should get some sleep. You'll want to be on top form to show off to the gamemakers"

I want to ask her to explain, to demand clarification but I know the conversation is over. Her back is still, not even showing the usual rise and fall as she breathes. I know she is waiting for me to leave, listening for the tell-tale click of the closing door. So I leave her, there is no point staying anyway.

No wonder I only ever saw her alone back home: it is impossible to get close to her. It is impossible to know what she is thinking.

Out the windows I can see a yellow sunrise fighting to appear over the tops of the high building. I try to picture what it would look like at home rising up over the water but somehow I can't. It has only been a few days and I'm already forgetting.

I aimlessly wander through to the dining room then the sitting room. I open each of the doors along the corridor, not exactly sure what I am looking for but restless enough to keep searching. It is strange to be shut up all the time. Since the opening ceremonies I haven't even had a whiff of fresh air. Being stuck in the training centre is maddening. Training each day alongside 23 people I have to kill if I want to survive is terrifying. Three days of conversation, of good impressions, of meaningless ceremony.

The other tributes generally avoid our group; watch our skills from a far. I am told I am doing well but I feel useless without a trident. And that's generally just it. I feel useless. I see Mags trying to jolly us all along, I see Jeannie's silent acceptance and Hollis' breakdown and there is nothing I can do. I don't even really know how I feel. The games are still just something we watch on television.

"What you doing out here, Fin?" Mags; small, frail, grey haired Mags back to mop up another breakdown in the hallway.

"I couldn't sleep," my voice quivers.

"Come now; let's get you a warm drink."

She sits me down on a squashy chair that seems to swallow my whole body and moments later she presses a warm cup into my hand and settles down next to me. At first we don't speak but I am already beginning to feel calmer.

"I know what it's like," she says, "When you get as old as me you'll probably hardly ever sleep. The body grows restless. "

I sip my drink. It tastes like honey. "I don't know what to show the gamemakers," I tell her. "There have been no tridents. And it… just doesn't feel right."

"I shouldn't worry too much about that, child, if you're still stuck for ideas when you are in there you could just blow them a kiss and they'd fall at your feet- 12s all round."

"You've noticed that, huh?"

"The whole of Panem has noticed. Not that I'm complaining. It's certainly done you no harm."

My cheeks burn. This is just further confirmation of how poorly I have conveyed myself. "I just don't like it when people stare at me." I try to explain, "It's like I've grown an extra head or something. So I give them a wink, blow them a kiss. They soon turn away. I saw Quincey Puckerman do it once"

"Quincey Puckerman- that pompous man who sometimes reads the news?"

"Yeah. Pretty dumb, huh?"

She chuckles, "not as dumb as you might think. Back when I was young. I wanted to be like a girl I knew in the district- Anne-Marie her name was. Her parents had bought her this perfect pair of blue heels that she would wear everywhere. I'd always listen out for her clip-clopping across the square. I begged my parents for a pair, even though I would usually just walk around bare foot. At first they told me no but I begged and begged and on the morning of reaping day I found a lovely box at the bottom of my bed and there they were; a pair of mahogany coloured heels. They weren't as fancy as Anne-Marie's but they were mine so I loved them. I insisted on wearing them to the reaping. That was the year my name was called and I couldn't walk a damned step in them. I almost broke my neck getting up to the stage. But still I wouldn't take them off. I have no idea what happened to them. I lost them somewhere in the Capitol. "

"Do you like being a victor?"

She takes in a deep breath, "right now? Right now I can't think of anything else I would rather be. How else would a washed-up old woman like me have such fine company?"

"But Hollis doesn't enjoy it?"

Her expression darkens slightly, "he's been having a hard time since his father died. Nothing for you to worry about, though. I had hoped being in the Capitol might help him but I think I was wrong to bring him."

"Jeannie and Hollis know each other, don't they? The scar on her stomach-"

"Hollis is a surgeon, he gets to know a lot of people in trouble." she turns towards the window. It is fully morning now. "Drink up; else you'll have to face the gamemakers in your nightclothes."

* * *

><p>The four of us sit around the television waiting to see what the gamemakers made of us, how well we had performed.<p>

When I had stepped into the gymnasium I had no idea of what to do. The gamemakers were sat in their chairs looking at me, expecting me to entertain them. I hadn't really expected that, hadn't expected to be given their undivided attention. I saw a buffet had been laid out for them but not one of them was eating.

I had stood there awkwardly for a moment, waiting for some sort of direction, when none came I went to the spear throwing station ad turned my back on the lot of them. I threw about 5 spears; each one hit the target with varying degrees of accuracy. I moved on to using the spears close range, viciously stabbing at a dummy's torso. Still I could feel their eyes on me. I needed to think of a way to make them turn away, to give me a brief moment of privacy.

So I tentatively turned to look over my shoulder. "Tell me," I said to them, "Does my bum look big in this?" I turned slightly so they could contemplate my backside from numerous angles. A slight smile collectively spread across their faces and the head Gamemaker's mouth quivered just before he got to his feet.

"Thank you, Finnick Odair from District 4, you are dismissed." And that was that.

As the scores begin to flash across the screen Hollis turns to me. Somehow Mags has managed to piece him back together. He sits slumped on the sofa, another drink in his hand but at least he is still here. "Just remember, whatever score you get will be for your backside not your skills," He slurs.

"Then I expect at least an 11," I say, getting to my feet and wiggling my bottom at him.

"Put it away!" Jeannie calls- throwing a cushion at me. I throw it back at her and as they announce the scores from district 2 the pair of us are running madly around the sofa as Mags ducks out the way of the flying cushions. Hollis takes one to the head but he just shrugs it off.

Suddenly Mags lets out an excited sort of cry and I turn to see my face filling the screen, a number 9 emblazed below it. "Guess they liked my behind," I say. A pillow thumps me in the side of my face; I turn to where it had come from.

"No need to get cocky," Mags tells me.

The pictures changes from my face to Jeannie's. A seven appears below her picture, the lowest score out of our group. Not good. She'll definitely be the first they target when the pack breaks down.

She tightens her lips, "Well that's that."


	6. Chapter 6

"At least it's obvious what we are meant to do with you," Hollis snaps. He paces in front of me. It's the first time in a while that I have seen him without a drink in his hand and he doesn't seem to be taking it well.

"What?"

"Your angle- flirty," he screws up his nose as if disgusted by the idea. "Unusual for a boy."

"What does that even mean?"

"When Flickerman interviews you, you make sure you flirt with the crowd, charm them. It's your best way of getting sponsors."

I shake my head, "I don't think so. I'm going for tough." I sit up in my chair, tensing my facial muscles.

"Well you certainly have a very deranged view of yourself." Hollis says, "You have sponsors out there but don't delude yourself into thinking you got them for your impressive skill and deadly persona."

"I'll look pathetic if I go out there like some kind of simpering boy toy"

Hollis shrugs, "That's the way it is. Your choice but it just so happens I know what I'm talking about."

I get to my feet, "I'm not doing it."

"How about sexy?"

I am out the door before Hollis can say anything else to me. How dare he even suggest it? As if there is nothing else I could possibly do but flirt. I have been training for years- if only they had given me a trident they would know what I could do but instead I am just some poser they saw waving through the streets of the Capitol. I don't want to be remembered that way. I don't want to embarrass myself or disappoint my parents by letting them change me that way. I can't do it. I won't do it.

I storm into the next room where Mags is talking Jeannie through her interview preparation. The door thumps into the wall and both women jump.

"Finnick?"

"I'm not doing it!"

"Doing what?" Jeannie asks.

"He wants to turn me into some sort of… _pretty boy."_ I spit the words out, expelling their poison from my mouth. "Hollis is an idiot if he thinks-"

"Actually we came up with the strategy together."

"But _why_!" I whine.

"You have one very unique thing going for you- something that makes you standout compared to everyone else. It would be stupid not to use it," Mags says calmly.

I can't stop moving around the room, I can't allow myself to stand still and think about this, not for a moment. It is unacceptable. It is ridiculous. "But I don't want to be _that_ guy."

"Now stand still a moment." Mags tells me. "Let's talk this through. Do you think we would ever ask you to do something that wasn't in your best interests?"

"But I want to be more than that."

"It's how the Capitol knows you. The silly creatures will love you for it, just you wait and see."

"But it's not who I am." It seems ironic that a strategy I once devised to stop people from looking at me is now the very reason that the whole Panem is watching me.

"Well we know that."

"Then don't make me do it. Don't let them turn me into some worthless decoration in their stupid games." I throw myself down on Jeannie's bed, burying my face in the covers.

The bed dips as Jeannie and Mags sit on it, one sat on either side of me. I feel Mags' wrinkled old hand gently caress my hair. It reminds me of what my mother used to do when I was sick. She would sing to me, smooth my hair and tell me stories until I fell asleep.

"You're too late," Jeannie tell me.

"For what?" I say, struggling to keep my voice from croaking.

"We're already just pieces in their games"

"Now Finnick," Mags says, "At this stage you're main goal is to get sponsors. Hollis and I can help you with that but you have to meet us halfway. There is nothing to say that once you get into the arena you can't show them exactly who you are- show them what you can do, but right now-"

"No." I'm up again, "I'm going to do this my way."

So I flounce my way out of a second room in less than ten minutes. Why do none of them understand? Why can't they see how I have to prove myself?

I turn on the television, trying to block out the agonising sounds of my own thoughts. I don't want to think about it. I don't want to think about any of it. I guess it must be a slow broadcast day as they are replaying an old Hunger Games. I haven't seen this one before. It looks pretty old.

A tall, muscular female tribute crouches behind some rocks, a crossbow poised ready in her hands. I would place her as one of the careers but it is hard to know. There is a steely look in her eyes, hardened to hostility by the arena. The cameras cut to a boy- small and pale he has that district 3 look about him. He crosses in front of the rocks where the female tribute is positioned. Thwack! It only takes a second and he is dead. Just like that. He didn't even stand a chance.

Next they show another girl sat in a grove. There is a deep gash across her thigh. Blood is everywhere. You can see she is trying not to pass out as she examines it. Sweat pours down her forehead and she hums croakily in the back of her throat. I want to turn away but somehow I can't stop watching, wondering what is going to happen next. Suddenly she looks up into the sky. A silver parachute gently floats to the ground at her side. She opens it and releases her breath enough to gasp. Inside there is ointment, bandages, enough to treat her leg. Greedily she does so and before long she is able to drag herself away to find some shelter.

Something lumpish sits in the bottom of my stomach and I feel sick. In a couple of days it will be me in the arena and the whole of Panem watching. It will be me the girl will aim her cross bow at, me who is left to tend to my own mangled wounds, and me who will have to kill or be killed.

I get the point.

It's as if Mags or Hollis had arranged for me to see this particular clip- to demonstrate just how much I am going to depend upon sponsors in the arena. I sigh. I wish they didn't have to be right.

With a fair dose of humble pie I return to Hollis and give a vague sort of apology. "I'll try and do it," I say. "But I can't promise I'll be any good at it."

* * *

><p>So I face Caesar Flickerman dressed in a smart shirt and waistcoat because Marius thought I looked too young to wear a full suit. Too young to wear a suit but old enough to be paraded half naked through the streets of the capitol… somehow that just doesn't seem to add up.<p>

Caesar's hair, eyelids and lips this year are a soft peppermint green. I try to think about how strange it is to meet him as I am called forward for my interview. The crowd cheers as I take my seat and it is some time before they stop. Caesar just grins at me until applause slowly dies out. I can tell he is just about to ask me my first question but I don't let him start.

"So, Caesar," I begin. "Can I just say how good you are looking tonight- that green suits you." I lean towards him slightly, "Really brings out the colour of my eyes." The audience laugh, amused by my brainless antics. If Hollis wants flirty I will give him flirty, no matter how ridiculous it seems. I can imagine him holding his head in his hands as he watches. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I'm a huge fan."

"As I am of you, Finnick." He goes to talk again and, once again, I cut across him.

"How do you Capitol people stay looking so good?" I look around at their disfigured faces, bizarre costumes and odd tattoos and hope that I managed to sound sincere.

Caesar turns comically to the audience, "And I thought I was the one conducting the interview."

"Sorry Caesar, I'll behave," I promise.

He takes in a deep breath to begin speaking again and I pretend to cut across him. We repeat this a few times as the audience laps it up. Until finally I actually let him speak. At least a minute must have gone, maybe more. If I am lucky I won't have to answer any real questions at all.

"Ever since you first arrived in the Capitol you have been causing quite the stir," Flickerman tells me, "There is one question everyone seems to want to know the answer to." He turns mischievously towards the audience. "Is there a girl waiting for you back in district four?"

I duck my head down slightly, hoping to look a little shy, "Not at the moment- I've never found that special person." I look up towards the audience. "I just hope she is out there- somewhere. They say there are plenty of fish in the sea but maybe there just isn't one for me."

"I'm sure there is. I'm sure any of the girls here would love to take you home." Caesar says, giving another sly look towards the crowd.

"Finnick! Pick Me!" a young woman in a turquoise dress screams from the crowd.

Her cry is met with several more and soon I am flooded with offers. One even asks me to marry her. I try to hide my embarrassment behind a show of smouldering stares and nods of recognition.

"Who knows," I say, "Maybe if I win, I could."

"Now, District 4 usually does quite well in the games. How do you fancy your chances this year?"

"Well they are as good as anybody's, I suppose. It's hard to say, though, I have no idea what's going to happen. Maybe I could get back to you after I've seen the arena?" I learn in confidentially towards Caesar, "I'm hoping it will just be one huge lake. I might not be able to out manoeuvre the others but I can certainly outswim them."

"I bet you can. Other than the water what are you missing the most from home?"

The question takes me by surprise and I don't know how to answer it. My mind goes blank. I have hardly thought about home since I got here. I feel the smile slip from my face.

"Who can miss home when there are so many distractions right here," I say but my voice has lost its purr. There is no way I can turn to look at the audience any more.

Thankfully the buzzer sounds. The audience let out an overly-dramatic groan.

"I know, I know," says Caesar, "But time is up, Thank you, Finnick Odair, tribute from district 4, let's hope there is a lake out there waiting for you."

They clap, more shouts are heard from hysterical women and Caesar offers some more consoling remarks.

My legs feel like jelly as a stumble to my seat. I almost walk headfirst into the girl from district 5 as she goes towards Caesar.

"Watch your step, district 4," she says.

I sidestep her and fall into my seat, unable to focus on the rest of the interviews.


	7. Chapter 7

We take the elevator up to the fourth floor. The tributes from district 9 go with us but I hardly notice them. My head is still full of home. It has only really just hit me that I might not see it again. If the rest of my family is anything to go by I have just five days left to live.

"See, you managed that just fine," Hollis tells me, "almost seems like it came naturally." He turns to Jeannie, "you didn't do badly, either, Lovely"

"It was the only way I could say goodbye to my dad." She looks how I feel- deflated and sad- her arms droop by her sides and her whole body seems to have fallen into a slump.

"Where's Mags?" I ask

"She'll be along soon."

Without stopping to talk any longer Jeannie heads off to her room and I go to mine. Out the corner of my eye I notice Hollis also disappear into Jeannie's room, no doubt intending to give another gold nugget, five star, awesome piece of Hollis advice. I'm glad he doesn't follow me. I would much rather be alone. Not one of us even entertains the idea of dinner. I certainly couldn't stomach it.

I know I won't be able to sleep so I rummage through the drawers at the desk until I find a piece of paper and a pen. Part of me thinks I ought to write a letter to my parents- something to remind them of me if I don't come back but there is nothing worthwhile to say. Nothing I could write could ever console them. Besides, we have fourteen years of shared memories and that is a better legacy for me than any badly written sap I could come up with tonight.

I still ache for home. As I let my mind float away to the warm beaches and endless blue sea the words begin to slowly form.

_Adrift below the darkening clouds_

_In water deep and true_

_There they threw the pallid shrouds_

_Of the young ones hitherto _

_And many a dark and stormy face_

_Looked upwards to the sky_

_For they were taken from this place_

_And there was no reason why. _

_These children born of district four_

_These spoils of the sea_

_Fed to the vicious jaws of war_

_In a costly spending spree_

_They share their bed with fishes now_

_Who send them off to sleep_

_Nestled in their watery boughs_

_Sweet souls now theirs to keep_

Every year the dead tributes are taken out to sea on a small vessel with its sail stooped at half-mast. There the families say their final farewells while the rest of district 4 light candles on the beach and sing them to rest. It can be hauntingly beautiful but at the same time it feels so reassuring because for once everyone is together and it's not because anyone made them come, but because they wanted to.

There is a knock on my door. "Come in?"

Mags shuffles in. "Not interrupting anything am I?"

I tuck the poem under my arm so she won't be able to see it. "Just been putting a few thoughts to paper"

She reaches out and puts something onto the desk in front of me.

"What's that?"

"Just a token. You're allowed to take a district token into the arena to remind you of home. I thought this could be yours. "

I turn it over in my hands. It's a brooch with a many headed sea creature on it. I run my fingers over the intricate contours on the design. Then I see that its eyes are green jewels, the kind that no one could ever afford in district 4. I put it back down on the table.

"Where did you get this?"

She shakes her head.

"Mags?"

"I heard once that medieval ladies would give a token to a knight before he entered a tournament. To show her... Support."

"Who gave this to you?"

"Does it matter?"

"A Sponsor?"

"Yes, but she'll only support you if you wear this in the arena."

"So she wants to make sure everyone knows she owns me, so I'm branded with her... Trinkets."

"At least you'll be able to rely on her to help you. Other tributes probably won't get that luxury." She sighs, "I thought you had got more used to the idea."

"I have, just this is never going to remind me of home. It's never going to mean anything to me."

"Nobody says it has to."

"And you'll get me a trident?"

She chuckles sadly, "I'll try my best."

I look at the brooch again, it really is quite lovely in some ways but a sea monster with four heads is nothing like my home. If I could have chosen I would have wanted a piece of driftwood from the beach. The kind that is covered in salt and seaweed and looks like it could tell a hundred stories if only it could speak- something calm and natural- not a myth. It is the Capitol which is like a myth. Nothing here is real. Even their thoughts are fake.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like a child"

"You are a child"

"I'm a tribute," I correct her. "Children don't get murdered for entertainment"

Mags looks nervously around as if searching the walls for something, then I realise that the room is probably bugged. "Silly boy, you and your jokes"

"Yes, me and my jokes," I confirm, brushing away my comment.

Now I'm looking round the room but if there are microphones then they are very well hidden. It would be just like the Capitol to be listening to everything we say.

Awkwardly Mags steps forward, "you're going to do great," she tells me and I am so overwhelmed and so relieved to hear someone say it that I throw my arms around her small shoulders.

"Thank you. Any last advice?"

"Just to follow your instincts. You'll know what to do."

* * *

><p>The next morning it is Hollis who comes to wake me. "I think you've had enough beauty sleep." He prods my shoulder and shakes me until I move but I don't want to. I want to stay curled up in bed forever. It doesn't help that it is still dark outside. "Come on!"<p>

"Oh my!" I turn and see Marius has come into my room as well, a strange smock thing hung across his arm. "I don't have enough time to deal with that awful bed hair!" he moans.

I'm still barely awake but Hollis pushes me again and I slide onto my feet. "Can I at least have a shower?"

"There's no time."

"Uh- Where are we going?"

"To the arena," Hollis tells me.

Without any further explanation I am led to the elevator which we take to the very top. Up and up and right onto the roof. No one else is there, I turn back to Hollis.

"Where is Jeannie?"

"She has her own ride," he tells me, "They stagger the journeys through a couple of hours. You're lucky you didn't miss yours."

A hovercraft appears, as if from nowhere, and a ladder falls just in front of me. "Is this it?"

"I'll be coming with you."

This doesn't make me feel any better. My stomach gives a lurch and I think I might throw up. Soon I'm going to see the arena. Soon I am going to be fighting for my life. The nervousness runs through me like electricity. This is it. I take hold of the ladder and am whisked upward, frozen by some sort of current. When I'm inside the hovercraft a man in a white coat kneels at my side with a syringe.

"What's that?"

"It's a tracker so we can follow your whereabouts in the arena."

I am released from the ladder and it is sent back to the roof to collect Hollis and Marius. The three of us are taken into a breakfast area. I sit at the table, my stomach still doing backflips. I might throw up.

Marius flourishes his napkin, tucks it into his collar then fussily begins slicing into a fried egg, cutting it into dainty bites. Hollis just grabs at the food, not even bothering to use a knife and fork.

Come on, I tell myself. Eat something. This might be the last decent meal you get. I force myself to chew on a bread roll but it feels like I'm eating cardboard. It takes a lot of effort to swallow it and when I do my stomach tightens a little.

Outside the window the capitol looks miniature as it slowly disappears into the distance. I am surprised to find that I am sad to see it go. At least I knew what horrors to expect there unlike in the arena.

The journey feels impossibly long. I don't know how much time passes before the windows black out. I try to eat as much as I can but after a while it gets too much. Hollis and Marius ignore me for the most part. I wish Mags was with me instead. I really have grown quite found of her and I know I would never be met with the same cool indifference that Hollis gives me.

My mind is elsewhere as the three of us are lowered into the Launch room.

Between Marius and Hollis they make sure that I am showered and tidy. Marius spends a great deal of time adjusting my hair so it lies flat.

I pay a little more attention to the clothes they dress me in- the first clue to what the arena might hold. A pair of thick trousers, a padded jacket and sturdy boots. As soon as I have them on I feel too warm, roasting. Wherever I am going it must be very cold. A barren wasteland? A snow-capped mountain?

Marius tuts disapprovingly at it, "This is not what I would have chosen for you at all," he tells me.

"At least it looks practical," Hollis says and for once I agree with him.

He fits a headband round my head. On it is a headlamp, the kind that the tributes from district twelve are often seen wearing at the opening ceremonies.

"What-?"

"It means it's going to be dark," Hollis says patronisingly.

Once the sea monster is pinned to my lapel there is nothing left to do. Marius fusses over a few final details but even he begins to run out of things to adjust.

I sit down on the bench, my hands wedged nervously between my knees. Hollis sits down next to me. There is an uncomfortable silence. Both of us know that we would rather experience this moment with anyone but each other. The only positive is that if Mags were here to give me another hug I think I would find it very hard not to cry and that's not the way I want to enter the arena.

"I guess this is goodbye," Hollis says, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I say.

"Who knows, maybe you'll prove me wrong."

"Here's hoping."

"Please prepare for launching," a female voice announces.

I walk over to the metal plate and stand, waiting. "Any last pieces of advice?"

He looks down at the pin on my jacket. "If you get any gifts try to keep them secret from the rest of the pack. It won't help you if they think you are too popular."

I nod. At least the advice is practical.

A glass cylinder is lowered over me. I stand up as best as I can, hoping to make an impressive entrance but as the plate begins to rise I feel nothing but nausea. This is it. This. Is it.

* * *

><p><strong>AN- <strong>What did you think of the poetry? Yay or Nay? I was thinking of making it Finnick's talent after the games.


	8. Chapter 8

**AN- I have tried to keep everything as close to what we know of these games from the book, although in some places I have stretched what we know for dramatic effect. **

* * *

><p>"Ladies and Gentlemen, let the 65th Hunger Games begin!"<p>

I feel a slight jolt as the platform clicks into place but I can't see a thing. The arena is in complete darkness. I squint into the nothingness.

A small light turns on to my left and that's when I remember the headlamp. I fumble for the switch, aware that the seconds are ticking by and soon I will have to leave my metal circle and face the others. It turns on easily and soon all the faces of all twenty four tributes are illuminated, from the fierce to the terrified.

We are stood in a huge cave. The air is dank and still as suffocating as the monstrous rock all around us. A faint dripping sound seems to count down the seconds. In the middle of the cavern sits the cornucopia, the golden metallic surface reflecting the 24 lamps. The arena is not what I expected, certainly not what I would have hoped for.

To my right I see a slight patch of variation in the cave wall which might be a tunnel but in every other direction it mostly looks completely, uniformly, black. No trees, no water. Nothing. Even with my padded jacket, I shiver.

I try to focus on the cornucopia, knowing it to be my aim. It is hard to make out but just inside the mouth of the horn something very large sits. I imagine that is where most of the supplies are as in front of that there are only a few backpacks. This means that if I want to come away with anything I will have to sprint some fifty metres to reach it. I fix my eyes on a backpack in the centre of the pile, ignore the other tributes around me, and prepare to run. Tunnel vision- that's what I need. No distractions. Tunnel vision- ha- what else could I possibly have in a cave?

As soon as I hear the gong I'm off, sprinting towards the backpack. The other tributes appear as mere shadows darting around my peripherals. No one has weapons yet, there is no danger and I'm out in front. I'm going to get there first. I'll have first choice. Maybe Mags has spoken to the Gamemakers, maybe there is trident just waiting for me to use it.

I grab the backpack I had my eye on and keep running as I sling it onto my back. I keep going right into the mouth of the cornucopia and that's when my feet skid to a halt.

The very large object in the cornucopia is a lump of ice. Visible beneath the cloudy surface are all the weapons that anyone could ever want. Knives. Spears. Bows. Arrows. Long swords. pikes. Maces. Axes. Scyths. Picks. Clubs… the list goes on. All these. Frozen. Unreachable. What are the Gamemakers thinking?

I have been standing motionless for so long that Nova has caught up with me. "Where are the weapons?"

"Take your pick," I say gesturing towards the block.

He growls but makes a beeline for the backpacks, tearing open the nearest one, violently searching through the bag.

Velvet, Agrippa and Rook are close behind. They grab the backpacks in armfuls and drag them inside the cornucopia. "Let's block off their supplies!" Agrippa yells triumphantly. It is clear that he hasn't noticed the block of ice.

Nova is still rummaging through the backpack as the other tributes swarm towards the cornucopia. Maybe they have realised that something is up, that we have no way of fighting back or maybe they are just stupid enough to think they can survive the bloodbath.

The girl from district 8 lunges for one of the backpacks but Nova, springs from his haunches, launching himself at her so she is forced to the ground. His abandoned backpack spills its contents across the cave floor. But he doesn't seem to notice. No cause to notice as he smashes the girl's head against the rocky floor with terrifying force. It's then that it dawns on me that not everyone in this arena needs weapons to fight back.

Oh god! I remember Enobaria- the tribute from 2 who won a few years back by ripping open a guy's throat with her teeth. I can't do this.

This must cross the minds of the other tributes too as suddenly the cave beyond the cornucopia seems eerily empty.

Jeannie steps over the fallen girl to join us in the cornucopia, taking especial care not to let the blood stain her shoes. She goes straight towards me, not even bothering to look at the pile of backpacks, only glancing briefly at the ice.

I jump as the cannon sounds. That's it. Some Bloodbath this has turned out to be.

"Maybe the weapons are in the backpacks," Velvet says, sounding hopeful.

Nova has all but ripped his apart but still I kneel to open mine and gradually sort through its contents: a sleeping bag, enough food for several days, a couple of bottles of water, a coil of rope and, somewhat mockingly, a very small bandage- the kind that might cover a paper cut. The others find similar items in their backpacks as well. Nothing that looks even the slightest bit deadly.

We pick through the unclaimed supplies but find nothing new. What we do find, however, is that underneath the backpacks there are six shovels. Shovels- those are to be our weapons. I quickly claim mine and clutch it to my chest- anything to stop me having to rip the others apart with my bare hands.

"This is all they are giving us?" Agrippa says with disgust. "What do they want to do? Just watch us all starve?"

"Well it is the hunger games," I remind him.

"Well it's not like we'll be doing that," Rook points out holding up one of the carefully wrapped plastic packages that contain what looks like a feast compared to what I've seen tributes eat in other games.

Nova goes over to the ice block and begins circling it, looking for some way to get into it but I already know it's completely solid. It wasn't just put there for show.

"Have we got any matches?" Nova asks.

"Sure, because one tiny match is sure to melt all that ice," Agrippa says sarcastically

"We could make a sort of blow torch," Jeannie suggests.

"No chance- not with these supplies."

I think of my supposed sponsors. I wonder if that is what they will send me- a blow torch to melt all the ice.

I join Nova at the block. There must be some point to this, some reason why the Gamemakers have created an arena without any real weapons. I peer into the ice, searching for something- some reason for this new strategy. That's when I see it, almost completely hidden by the enticing display of weapons- a wisp of dark fur. I don't have to look any harder to know what it is.

"There's a mutt in it. You can't see it very well." I reach out towards the ice to try and clear its foggy surface but no sooner than my hand has made contact I pull it away, pain searing through me. I let out a gasp.

"What happened?" Jeannie rushes forward and grabs hold of my hand inspecting my palm. It is red and blistered, as though burnt. I can't hold it still for long. I shake it violently but it makes no difference.

Jeannie grabs one of the bottles from a spare backpack and pours the whole lot over my hand. I can almost hear it sizzle as the welts scream. _Don't cry out. Don't cry, _I tell myself but it is hard. I want to yell but instead I curse, saying words to make my mother hide her face in shame.

I am glad when I see the rest of the group are paying me no attention. Instead they are all staring into the ice block, taking care not to touch it.

"What do you think it is?"

"It's quite tall."

"Whatever it is, it's not going to be good news."

Agrippa moves in a little closer to the block. "Maybe we could use the shovels to chip away at the ice?"

"But what about the mutt?"

"It will probably be too frozen to do anything. We won't thaw out that quickly. Chip it right and you could even take its head with it."

Before anyone has a chance to contemplate the situation any further Nova begins to attack the top of the block. His strong arms drive the shovel right into the very top near to where a dagger is positioned. Small shards of the ice rain down on us, sticking to our faces, burning any skin it touches. After only a couple of strikes Nova is forced to stop as none of us can stand it any longer. Small blisters have risen on our faces, yet the block of ice seems relatively unscathed. Chipping away at it like that is a fool's game. Your whole skin could burn to a crisp and you still might not get a weapon.

"We'll have to wait until it warms up a bit. Surely it won't stay frozen forever."

As they talk I hear a slight rustling behind us. I turn and see a girl stood at the mouth of the cornucopia, only just in sight. She is bent over reaching for one of the backpacks. As she misses the strap again, straightening up slightly our eyes meet. My body tenses. I'm meant to go hunt her down, to kill her because she has attempted to get the supplies- but I don't move.

Can't.

The girl panics, frozen in fear. Part of me is willing her to run, willing her to somehow get out the way but still she doesn't move and neither do I.

This was supposed to be easy. My instincts are supposed to take over and I am meant to kill her. To hit her head on the ground like Nova, to hit her with my shovel, to rip out her throat- but I don't. I stupidly stand there allowing the whole of Panem to see how redundant I am. Surely I can't be the only one who has seen her?

I am almost relieved when Rook barrels towards her, her shovel swinging wildly. It cuts through her skin just above the jaw and she drops to the ground, whimpering in pain. Rook raises the shovel again, this time jamming it into the girl's stomach. There is no way she can survive this.

"Serves you right," Rook sneers. For what I am not entirely sure.

She leaves her then and comes back inside the cornucopia to re-join the conversation. Her shovel is covered in the girl's blood but there is nothing to clean it on.

"Shall we go out looking for others," She says eagerly.

"Wait until that one's done," Agrippa says, nodding over his shoulder.

The girl lets out a horrific cry. I am still immobile, watching her as she tries to crawl away.

We have all seen the games on television. I thought I had seen it all, thought watching it would be enough to desensitise me to the arena but there were some things I never counted on.

Like the blood. I can smell it. It wafts up into my nose and grips hold of my throat. And the look in her eyes. I can see the pain there, the desperation.

"Please," she says to me. "Please." And I know what she wants. Still I can't move. My shovel is on the ground, I must have dropped it when I burnt my hand. I could easily pick it up and end all of this but the idea sickens me.

I know the others must be watching me too, waiting for me to finish her off. Waiting for me to show them what I can do. Very soon they are going to realise that I have no right to be in the pack because as far as killing is concerned I am useless. I'm just a kid.

"For goodness sake, Finnick," Jeannie says to me.

She takes up her own shovel and smashes the flat side of it down on the girl's head. Her body twitches and jerks so Jeannie hits her again and a third time until she is still.

I am thankful when the cannon tells me it is over. Two deaths. Two grieving families.

I sink down to my knees and take another water bottle from the backpacks. I spend a long time washing my hands. I act like it is to make sure my burns are clean but really I just want to stop feeling so grubby.


	9. Chapter 9

I know we can't stay here for long. I know the rest of the group will become restless, eager for fresh blood. When the last of the bottle is gone I force myself to get up. My hand is still throbbing but there is no point in thinking about that now.

"Let's go hunt," I say, picking up my shovel- its rough handle rubs against my broken palm but I force myself not to wince. "We have the shovels and that's still better than anything they have."

The group agrees and the six of us head towards the mouth of the cornucopia where the remaining backpacks are still piled up. Nova and Rook head the group, their noses in the air like a pair of blood hounds sniffing out prey.

Velvet lags behind a little, "We can't leave those unguarded," she points out, gesturing towards the backpacks.

"Someone will have to stay behind."

Eyes dart from one person to the next, my heart sinks slightly as more than one set fix on me. I don't want to stay behind with a bunch of backpacks. The cavern is vast with many dark hiding places. It would be easy for someone to sneak up on you. Without any real weapons and without the rest of the group surely staying here is a death sentence. It is the job given to the weakest member of the group; the expendable one, the one that no one really likes. No one says anything but we will be stood here a long time if we wait for a volunteer.

"How about you?" Nova nods at me, "You could stay here."

My mind races, trying to think of a reason why I shouldn't stay- a valid reason why I deserve to live but I am sorry to say that none come to mind. Without a trident, or a net, or water I am next to useless.

"Yeah, rest up your hand," Rook agrees. I get the impression that she still hasn't forgiven me from the first training session.

Resigned to my fate I try to think of tactics. Maybe the best idea would be to take all the supplies and leave the cornucopia and the pack, as it is clear I am first on their hit list anyway. Then I could find some abandoned tunnel, see if I can find anything to make some nets with and spend the rest of the games hidden until the right moment comes for me to strike. It has worked before. Better than just sitting waiting for death at the cornucopia.

"I'll do it," Jeannie suddenly chips in, "I don't mind staying."

"All right, district 4." And just like that I am off the hook.

Jeannie doesn't look at me as we move out. I know why she volunteered though; it was never part of her plan to get back home. Good, I think. At least this way I won't have to kill her. No one at home would ever be able to forgive me if I did, anyway. She gathers up the backpacks and begins to put them out of sight on the other side of the ice block. I lose sight of her completely as we head towards the nearest of the tunnels that leads away from the cornucopia.

The headlamps they gave us are completely inadequate. The narrow beam makes but a tiny slit of light through the terrible darkness. No night vision glasses either. Walking through the maze of tunnels my whole body is placed on constant alert. There is nothing to say there isn't some tribute with their lamp off watching our every move. There is nothing to say that they won't jump out and attack us at any moment. The lack of weapons has unnerved me- there must be some greater plan- something lurking in the shadows that is going to provide enough entertainment to the capitol that they won't miss the bloodbath. I can't figure out what it might be. But it's there… waiting. It makes my skin crawl staring out into the emptiness. This is what the Gamemakers want- to have us all on edge.

I turn from left to right but all I see are the dripping cave walls, shining in the dim light. A distant scream echoes around us, a tortuous scream of someone in great pain. I look behind me. Agrippa is grinning nervously, both his hands tightly gripping his shovel.

The passageways twist and fork in such ways that it is impossible to keep track of them. I have no idea how we are ever going to make it back to the cornucopia. Everywhere looks the same and although we walk for hours there is no sign of any other tributes.

"There must be someone about," Nova says, his shovel is resting across his shoulders as he turns suspiciously around, his headlamp blinding me as it stops right in my eye.

We stop to listen but all we hear is the familiar dripping of water.

"We should have stayed at the cornucopia," Velvet says.

"What good would that have done?"

"At least we wouldn't be lost." So all of us have been thinking it, just nobody wanted to say it until now - we had veered off down so many different paths; made so many random turns that it would be a miracle if we ever find our way back.

"We don't even have real weapons," Rook complains.

"They're making us look stupid," Nova says.

"Speak for yourself," sneers Agrippa.

It is such a very small comment in the grand scheme of things but the two still glare at each other, sizing each other up. Nova is probably twice the size of Agrippa but I bet Agrippa is faster. It is clear what is going to happen even before it does. Velvet and I take a step back just as Nova tackles Agrippa to the ground. In circumstances like these it doesn't take much for the beast to take over. Their bodies become entangled as their arms and legs whirl in many different directions and shovels fly. Before long Nova has Agrippa pinned to the ground and is punching him across the face, breaking his nose.

Agrippa just laughs: a long, manic, mirthful laugh beyond even the point of hysteria. Nova hits him again but the laugh just gets louder, blood dripping from his nose into his open mouth.

"Stop it," Velvets says, placing a hand on Nova's shoulder. "We are supposed to be a team." It seems a strange thing to say in a game where we all must fight to the death but somehow it reaches Nova. Maybe it's because none of us know what is going on and we feel safer in numbers or maybe he just thinks it's too soon for the group to break down, either way he stops.

He throws a last punch into Agrippa's chest, "Just remember I can beat you, Agrippa. I own you!" Then he gets to his feet. "Come on, let's keep moving."

Spluttering and fighting for breath Agrippa curls up on his side and spits out one of his teeth. He is still laughing as he gathers up his shovel and gets to his feet. I get my first real glimpse of his puffy and bloodied face and I silently remind myself that this is no place to be making clever remarks at someone else's expense.

We walk onwards and the tunnel slowly begins to widen out into another cavern. The rock in this part of the caves has an iridescent quality which I assume is from crystals. The room is vast. Spaced around the outside are more blocks of ice, more snarling creatures waiting to be released. These are clearer than the one at the cornucopia. It is easy to make out the teeth, the claws and the huge form of six gigantic bears. They don't hold my attention for very long, though, as something far more interesting catches my eye. The whole far side of the cavern is a gigantic, black lake. It is just possible to make out a slight ripple on its surface but without that it would be quite easy to walk right into it. I can't resist going towards it. It could be full of deadly creatures or poisons but it doesn't stop me feeling calmed by it. Reassured that something vaguely familiar exists in this arena. As I move in closer my headlamp picks up a small island on the far side of the lake. It seems to lead off into another hidden tunnel.

"We should check that out," Rook suggests.

"Who can swim?"

"I'll do it!" I say before anyone else even has a chance to share their abilities. This will show them, I think, this will make it clear exactly what I can do. I am about to put my shovel down at the edge of the lake when I realise I would be better off keeping it with me. I dip my blistered hand into the water. When nothing happens but relief to the continual throbbing I decide that the water must be safe and dunk myself in, holding my shovel above my head.

At the edge of the lake it isn't deep so I just walk along the bottom but soon there is a sudden drop so I kick off from the side and let my legs smoothly propel me along, making sure to keep my head with the lamp above the surface of the lake. The water is glorious: cool and calm. As I glide through it I begin to feel rejuvenated, my confidence again growing. I can do this. Look at me; I'm the best swimmer these games have to offer. I twist onto my back and watch the others on the bank as they gape at me. They probably haven't even seen a lake, let alone swam in one before.

"Get a move on!" Nova shouts so I force myself to swim as fast as I can. I reach the island within seconds and push myself up onto the rocky surface.

The island is not large and what I thought was a tunnel turns out only to be small niche in the rock. I am about to call out to them that there is nothing when I notice the sword protruding out of the rock. Placed there by the Gamemakers it seems that it is a gift just for me. For who else could have swam across that lake but us tributes from district 4? They want me to win, I think. I must be so popular that the whole capitol is on my side. Too bad they didn't think to make it a trident.

"Found anything?" Agrippa calls out, his voice slightly distorted by his broken nose.

"Not yet," I say, reluctant to let them know the treasure I have found. In an arena without weapons this is sure to make me king.

I grab hold of the hilt of the sword and pull, my hand screaming but I don't care because this is worth the pain. Only the sword doesn't move. Not one bit. I try twisting it. Still it holds its position. A light touch does nothing; neither does leaning hard on the handle, or trying to use my shovel to free it. After ten minutes of constant effort I finally give up. It is just another temptation positioned to give us hope but like so many things, completely unattainable.

I let out a sigh. So much for being king. I feel cold now; the cool lake water and the freezing air do not mix well. If I am not careful this is bad enough to kill me. Stupid Finnick- who would honestly jump into a lake in a freezing cold arena? I was just so excited to see the water that I didn't consider the consequences.

I start to go back to the edge of the island when I notice a parachute gently gliding down towards me out of the nothingness. Hidden by the curve of rock which encircles most of the island, there is no way the others could have seen it. I catch it in my hands and greedily open it. This is it- my trident. Who needs a sword when I can have that?

Except it isn't a trident. Mags and Hollis have sent me an insulated body suit. They obviously thought I was a bit stupid as well so decided to help me out. I look it over; it reminds me of the kind of thing divers sometimes wear: skin-tight, black, and thick- the best thing to protect me from the cold. I strip down to my underwear and hurriedly pull on the suit. Instantly I feel better. I am going to be all right, after all. I put my clothes on over the top and make sure the suit is completely covered, remembering Hollis' advice to keep the gifts a secret. Let them be the ones to freeze, I think.

It is only once I'm still that I realise how strange it is for the rest of the group to be so quiet. No more questions, no more barked commands. Only, it isn't quiet at all. The water is splashing violently. I rush to the edge of the island, sure they have all decided to join me but it is not the case.

Velvet is knelt at the water's edge holding someone's head below the water. I can't make out who it is. I look around the group. Rook. Agrippa. Nova. They all stand watching and laughing as the victim thrashes about. No, it's not one of us. They have finally found some prey.

Lots of people have drowned back in district four. There are ways of trying to save them but sometimes there is nothing that can be done. I have heard people say that drowning would be a peaceful sort of death. Sure, you can go quietly enough. Unable to call out or signal for help, your air supply slowly cut off from you. The untrained eye might not even notice it, it can be so calm. But I imagine the experience of it is something quite different.

Just by looking across I can tell the tribute has lost consciousness. His body- I can now see it is a boy- begins to convulse due to lack of oxygen. It won't last long. Finally the tribute goes still and Velvet lets him go. The cannon sounds. His body floats on the surface of the water. His headlamp has gone out.

No, I would not like to drown. Feed my body to the fishes, by all means, but don't let me become another victim of the sea: another name to add to the sailor's monument back home.

I swim back towards the others, staying clear of the body, and scramble back onto solid ground. "There was nothing there," I tell them. I don't ask about the boy.

"Come on; let's get out so the hovercraft can take him."

As we move onwards Rook holds back. I see her suddenly lower herself into the water and walk across the bottom of the lake out towards the body.

"What are you doing?" Agrippa says in disgust.

"Checking for supplies!" she calls back.

"What supplies?"

She reaches into his pockets one by one. Then, on the third try holds something triumphantly above her head. It's a knife.

My heart sinks. When I found the sword I thought I would be the only tribute with a weapon but now it is Rook who holds that title and this makes her very dangerous.

When we set off again the group pull back, letting her take the lead. No one wants the knife anywhere near their back. As we move away from the cavern a thought crosses my mind- where had the boy found the knife? Was it lodged in the walls like the sword? If so, how did he get it out?


	10. Chapter 10

If anything it seems to be getting darker in the caves. Perhaps it is the Gamemakers' way of telling us it is night time because really there is no way to know. It is also hard to say how big the arena is. It seems immense. We have seen no one else since the boy in the crystal cave.

"Where did he get the knife from?" Agrippa says for what seems the hundredth time.

"There must be a source of supplies other than the one at the cornucopia. It's not like he could have brought it in with him," Velvet muses.

"But where?" Nova demands.

"If I knew I would be there, wouldn't I?" Velvet rolls her eyes.

"The Gamemakers must hate us," I say. Four headlamps suddenly shine into my face. I blink wildly, trying to shade my eyes but they don't turn away.

"What do you mean?" Rook asks.

"Just, you know, it's usually the career pack that has control the supplies at the cornucopia but this year they have made sure we don't. Instead they have hidden them somewhere else- somewhere further afield. And who reaches those places first? Those who run. They have deliberately forced us to change our tactics. This arena favours those who want to hide in the darkness. It gives every underdog a chance of winning because there is a higher chance of them finding a weapon. So they become the hunters and us the hunted and no one has equipped us for that. We're not used to running."

"But why would they hate us?" Velvet seems genuinely put out, as if the idea of anyone hating her is unimaginable.

I shrug, "I dunno, but if they have a winner in mind it isn't one of us."

"I bet it is that boy from 7," Nova said, "They gave him a 10 in training."

We are approaching another bottleneck in the tunnel that forces us to walk only two abreast. Rook and Velvet take the lead while Nova hangs back. His shoulders are so broad that another person probably wouldn't fit next to him.

"Anyway," Nova says, "It's not like we have bothered to change our tactics, so the joke is on them."

The significance of this comment begins to sink in just as the arrow shoots straight into Velvet's neck. She stumbles against the wall of the tunnel as another arrow whistles through the air, flying out of the darkness. Rook pushes past me, Agrippa and Nova, scrambling to get out of range.

"Run, you fools," she hisses. This pulls me out of my shock and my legs take control. There is no fighting these invisible assailants- we could stagger blindly through the tunnels in the direction of the arrows and still not find them. Whereas, with our glowing headlamps, they would easily find us. Take out the whole group, if we let them.

No one even thinks to stop for Velvet. We just run through the tunnels after Rook. There is no thought to where we go. We could be running from the arrows only to find a new peril. I bet the people in the Capitol are having a good laugh watching the career pack run for the lives from what easily could just be one small tribute with a bow and arrow.

We have been running for about ten minutes when we hear the cannon. They must have caught up with Velvet.

Nova drops to his knees, panting. The rest of us do the same. I reach for some water. An arrow is lodged into my backpack. I pull it out and lay it next to my shovel.

I don't realise how thirsty I am until I'm drinking. I gulp down the water, greedily, before I realise that we still have no idea how to get back to the cornucopia and the remaining supplies. I force myself to replace the cap on the bottle and rip a small chunk of bread out of one of my rolls. It is not the green bread from district 4, it is long and thin and full of raisons. I don't know where it has come from but I guess it doesn't matter.

"Everyone all right?" I ask, turning from one person to another.

"A little exercise hurts no one," Agrippa says. His puffy face now looks terrifying but he seems to be in no rush to do something about it.

Rook is tucking into her own supplies. It is clear that she's not worried about running out of food as she consumes enough for a full meal back home. Maybe she has more confidence in us getting back to the cornucopia than I do.

Nova is sorting through his pack as well. He has laid out all the items around him and is now methodically returning them to the bag, one by one, taking great care about where he puts each item. Most of his face is in shadow but I can see that his jaw is held tensely. I wonder if he is upset about Velvet.

When Agrippa slumps down, leaning against the cave wall I realise the unspoken agreement that we should all rest. I push my backpack against the cavern, using it like a cushion, and begin to inspect my hand. It is bleeding now, rubbed completely raw. Around the edges of the open blister has gone hard making my hand difficult to move. I force myself to, though; force the tight skin to stretch just a little further.

I have no idea what time it is, only that it is must still be day one because the anthem hasn't played and the faces haven't appeared in the sky. I don't feel tired; I am too alert, too aware that someone else might emerge out of the caves with another weapon to take down another member of our group. I hear Nova's words in my head again. _It's not like we have bothered to change our tactics. _And that is just the problem. We have been stomping through these caves with heavy feet, loud voices, headlamps gleaming. We have gone through the motions as any career pack should- taking the supplies at the cornucopia then going to hunt for easy targets. We have not adapted to our environment in the slightest. Not even really considered what might be a more effective plan of attack. After all the discussion, all the imagined scenarios we went through, my father must be screaming at the television.

"We need to rethink our plan of action."

"Why, you got some sort of great plan, pretty boy?" Agrippa says. He is testing each of his teeth, seeing if they move in his beaten mouth.

I stop myself from retaliating. This is not the time to be jumping on every annoying remark. "Well, it's not like it's currently working out well for us, is it?"

There is a deep rumble that feels as though it is growing from inside the caverns. A small rock rolls down the walls and bounces across the floor. The rumbling grows. More rocks begin to fall. I grab my backpack and sling it over my shoulder, take my shovel and leap to my feet as more rocks begin to tumble on top of us. They are getting bigger.

"Cave in!" I call. I don't turn to see what the others are doing before I run. I don't care if all of them get crushed as the ceiling falls in. I just know that I need to get out of there. The falling rocks force me along the tunnel until I reach a fork. Turning towards one route, then the other, it is not difficult to make my decision. To the right it is already almost completely caved in; to the left only has a few small pebbles dropping from the ceiling. I swerve left, my mind racing even faster than my feet.

We're being driven towards something. There is a reason why this way is clear. Someone or something must be nearby. Should I turn out my light? Hide in the darkness? If I do I won't be able to see where I am going, will have no way of judging which route is clear. If I don't whoever is being driven our way will see me and probably attack. I look ahead at the long stretching maze of tunnels. There is no way I could navigate them without my headlamp. So I raise my shovel ready to strike and keep running. Thundering footsteps tell me that the others are following but the occasional yell suggests they are not as successful in avoiding the falling rocks. I continue onwards, always driven towards the left fork of the tunnel.

Part of the cave wall collapses right in front of me so I have to scramble over the stones, my feet catching as I try to keep up with the impossible speed the Gamemakers have set for me. Another left turn and the tunnel opens out into a small chamber. Here there are several tunnels leading off. One is completely filled in with fallen boulders leaving four more to choose from. Before my mind even has a chance to think, my feet run down the closest passageway.

I see them running towards me- two girls- one extremely small and the other taller but impossibly scrawny. The rumble of the caverns is still roaring behind me along with the steady footsteps of my comrades so I keep running, holding my shovel like a bat. They too keep running at me. The taller girl is struggling with what looks like a long metal pole. When I get closer I see that it is a flail. The smaller girl is armed with an axe.

The tunnel is long with several passages leading off it. I could easily turn down one of them and avoid the two girls but I know that only by facing them will the cave-in stop. So I keep going straight ahead, twisting my face into a deadly expression.

When we finally hit each other the flail is in motion, the head of it spinning round like the blades of a helicopter. I jab the handle of my shovel towards the little girl as I duck the flail. Unexpectedly she grabs hold of the handle and begins to pull it from me, using a turning motion to get the better leverage. While I struggle to keep hold of my pathetic weapon, the girl beats me with the flail, apologising to me each time it hits.

When the others join us, it becomes easier. The little girl screams when she sees Agrippa's bloodied face but doesn't let go of my shovel until Rook slashes her arm with the knife. Nova goes for the taller girl, trying to prize the still swinging flail from her. In his desperation to get it the flail beats him across the chest, momentarily winding him. I move across, grabbing onto the pole and trying to yank it from the girl but somehow she digs it into my ribs. I feel a sharp pain but I refuse to let go of the flail. The little girl is very quick with her axe but mostly uses it to deflect Rook's knife and Agrippa's shovel. For two small girls they are putting up a tremendous fight.

As Rook and Agrippa bear down on the small girl, the taller girl rushes across to her, yanking the flail from my grasp. She pulls the little girl to her feet and together they run into one of the tunnels, turning off their headlamps so they disappear into nothing. We start to follow them, catching their darting forms in our own beams. I struggle to breathe as I run, out of breath almost before I have started. I am pleased when the anthem interrupts our pursuit and the others let them go, collapsing to the floor.

It is strange to see the four faces floating overhead. When you look up you are convinced that you are completely surrounded by rock, that you are looking at the roof of the cavern but now, while the images are in the sky, you can see that it is endless and that the sense of claustrophobia is nothing more than an illusion to unsettle us.

There are no surprises in the death toll. Velvet appears first, then the boy from District 3 that Velvet drowned in the lake. The Girl from District 7 that Jeannie finished with the shovel and finally the girl from 8 whose head Nova smashed against the floor. Just four casualties on the first day. No doubt the Capitol citizens will be demanding a bloodbath at some point.

Beaten and bruised by the fight with the two girls, none of us have the energy to do anything but lie half-senseless on the floor of the tunnel. Agrippa offers to take the first watch but the glint of Rook's knife reminds me not to sleep. We turn off our headlamps to give us some coverage and all of us try to sleep.

The night is long and agonising. The temperature drops below freezing and even in my sleeping back and with the bodysuit I find it hard to stop myself shivering. I struggle to breathe. There is a chance that girl cracked my rib. I don't know if the others sleep, they certainly make no sound- no peaceful steady breathing, no gentle snores. It is more likely that, like me, they lay clutching their shovels with their eyes burning because they refuse to close them. When I can stand it no longer I get to my feet and immediately three lamps turn towards me.

"Where are you going?" Nova demands.

"I need to stretch my legs." They watch me as I go down one of the tunnels, scrutinising the casual way I hold my shovel. Probably suspecting I plan to kill them all.

I am groggy from a lack of sleep and my mind feels cloudy. I stuff the rest of my bread roll into my mouth and stand facing the camp, gently bending and straightening my knees.

I have just finished the bread roll when I notice a small flashing light floating down from the sky. A parachute. It swerves straight towards me and I catch the parcel in my hands. I know straight away that it is not my trident- it is too small, too light. I turn on my lamp and carefully unwrap the gift.

A medical pack with ointments, bandages, painkillers, a needle and thread, more tablets- possibly everything that a standard tribute might need. I involuntarily laugh. Yes, I suppose the way we've been performing a medical kit is far more fitting than a weapon.


	11. Chapter 11

With my ribs and hands newly treated and the medical kit hidden in my backpack I decide to return to the group. Two parachutes in just over a day. It is clear that someone is looking out for me. As I make my way along the tunnel I lightly touch the sea monster and think of all those Capitol eyes watching me, watching everything I do. I look straight upward toward the sky and blow them a ridiculously exaggerated kiss. Maybe, if I am lucky, they'll turn away in embarrassment- because really they should.

As I move along I get the feeling that something isn't right. I must have gone the wrong way because where there had previously been a fork in the tunnel there is now nothing. I turn back, retracing my steps until I find a discarded piece of the parachute left strewn on the floor. There is not a single tunnel along the way. Either I have stumbled across the remains of some other tribute's gift or the Gamemakers are playing tricks on me. I turn again and this time I follow the tunnel right to the end- all the way back to the rest of the group and, just as I thought, the fork in the tunnel has disappeared.

My companions all lay tucked up in their sleeping bags like three giant caterpillars. They must be struggling to keep warm. Agrippa looks particularly blue in the insipid light of his headlamp.

"Enjoy your walk?" he asks through chattering teeth. Stone makes a very cruel bed.

"Very... Productive," I tell him. This makes him frown as he tries to figure me out.

Rook and Nova are both pretending to be asleep but I can see that their eyes are not fully closed. I'm not sure what they hope to gain by this. Perhaps they think they might learn a secret.

I go across to them, stepping close to their heads, "You just can't keep your eyes off me- even when you are sleeping."

"Shut it," Nova snaps. I am glad he is trapped inside his sleeping bag else I'm sure he would have taken a swipe at me. I take a step back.

"We might as well get up," Rook says as she slides out of her sleeping bag. The knife is still in her hand, she must have spent the whole night with it clasped to her chest.

The cannon booms. "Five!" Agrippa says with satisfaction.

"Only 18 to go," Nova, agrees.

No sooner than the four of us have got to our feet then we see a set of lights glowing in the distance. Agrippa's satisfaction turns to glee.

There is no discussion, no need to plan a strategy, the four of us just run towards the light, shovels at the ready.

The lights in the tunnel remind me of the lights on the beach at the final farewells back in district 4. I picture the group of worn faces huddled together by the shore, the last hum of their haunting melody, and I wonder if this is me running towards my final farewell.

The lights always stay just a step ahead of us, keeping up our pace exactly. I can hear nothing but our own footsteps echoing around the walls. To me this screams Gamemaker but the others keep going, spurred onwards by the promise of blood. So I stay with them, hoping I can keep one step ahead of whatever they have in store.

The five lights dart around the walls more like fireflies than headlamps, ducking and diving over and under, swishing down the tunnels. These are definitely not people. I pull back slightly allowing the others to push ahead. Eventually the lights nip round a tight corner and vanish the moment we step into a new cavern. I feel the temperature drop several degrees.

"Where'd they go?" Nova says looking around.

I am about to give him an answer when i am stunned to silence as I take in our surroundings. All around the room there are more ice blocks, insignificant you might think, but these are unlike any we have seen so far. Firstly they are glowing and secondly, in the middle of each block there is a dead tribute. It is Velvet who startled me most, her cat-like eyes staring down at me with a look of accusation. I go over to her, unable to believe what they've done. Her body is suspended in the ice, the arrows still lodged into her skin. She is bathed in a luminous pink glow. At the front of the ice block it is written-' exhibit 4- Velvet Degrove, District 1, sent from here care of Harrow Songstead, District 11.'

There is the boy from District 3, the girls from 8, 7 and 5, all of them on display in this way. I try not to look at them but the bright lights draw my eyes towards them. So this is to be our fates- frozen ghosts to add to the underground tomb.

Nova is shaking his head wildly. "It's not her," he says, "They are just trying to scare us... And it's not working!"

I notice elaborate letters have been carved into the wall 'The trophies of the 65th Hunger Games'.

Rook is slinking around the ice blocks, reading the labels. "Hey, Agrippa, you want to add some more trophies to the cabinet?"

"I bet by the end of this I'll have more than you."

"Want to bet?"

These trophies are human, though- were alive just 24 hours ago. I certainly won't celebrate winning one. And despite the pomp and the sign I can't help but feel like the Capitol are somehow making us accountable for their deaths. Exhibits in our murder trial. Care of Harrow Songstead. Nothing of fighting for survival or kill or be killed. I am thankful that there is no evidence against me, yet.

Agrippa and Rook are still arguing when a clear voice reverberates around the walls, singing softly.

"_Come close sit by my side, and let me hold you near...'_

The singer sounds incredibly close. Nova signals to me to go to the tunnel we came from while he, Rook and Agrippa cover the others. We stand with our shovels raised and wait. And wait. And wait.

"_While in these arms with me you bide, there's nothing left to fear...'_

She now sounds so near she could be in the trophy room with us. We each stare down our tunnels but there is no one there. I move my lamp so it catches all the corners but there really is nothing to see.

The singing continues, high and childlike. Surely the singer can't realise what danger she is in.

"She's in the walls!" Agrippa says suddenly. "There must be a smaller tunnel running alongside this one."

Within moments we have found it- a very small passageway leading off one of the tunnels. The entrance is only really visible when you know what you are looking for. It looks barely big enough to crawl through.

"I'll go first," Nova says, pushing towards the entrance, part of me wonders if he is just desperate to get away from the trophy room.

"No," Agrippa says, "Rook should go first- she has the knife."

So Rook crawls into the tunnel, her back almost scraping along the ceiling as she shuffles forward. Nova follows next. At first I think he won't fit but somehow he wedges himself inside.

"Shouldn't some of us stay here?" I ask. It seems a little stupid for the four of us to all go into a tunnel where only one person can fit at a time. Once Rook gets to the girl there will be nothing we can do, anyway.

Agrippa gestures for me to go next, "After you."

I don't argue with him, no good comes of arguing in this group. I wish I could have gone last so I knew there was no one sneaking up behind me but as I said, there is no point in arguing.

My ribs ache in their bandages as I crawl into the tunnel. The floor is covered in sharp stones that dig into my knees and hands. When I have shuffled just a short distance I sense the tunnel closing up behind me and Agrippa joins the party. The air is warmer here, denser, and my lungs struggle to take it in. The tunnel seems to slope slightly upwards, I wonder if it leads to another level in the caves. We have only travelled a short distance when my whole body begins screaming for me to get out. But I can't. I am wedged too tightly between Nova and Agrippa. I can hardly force my wounded hand to keep plodding on over the jagged stones. Soon I have to limp along on three limbs, using the wall of the tunnel as a prop. Sweat drips down my forehead. Everything is just getting tighter and tighter. I am sure the walls are closing in, sure that the four of us are all going to be buried inside this tunnel- buried so deeply that not even the hovercraft could ever retrieve us.

I am not going any further. I stop dead in the tunnel and press my head against the wall. There must be a way out. I feel around the walls, looking for an escape. Maybe I can get back to the lake. Things would be all right at the lake.

Agrippa is nudging my with his shovel. "Keep going," he hisses.

Somehow this calms me. Reminds me of where I am and what I have to do. I take in a deep breath of the stale air. _Come on, Finnick, keep going. They're watching you. _I look ahead, ready to follow Nova's backside further into the tunnel but I can't because he's stopped as well.

My ears slowly tune in to what's happening. Something is dragged along the floor of the cave- the jagged rocks hit against each other. Rook laughs.

"Sparkes! Sparkes!" the girl calls, her voice bouncing off the walls of the tunnel.

Rook mutters something, the girl screams hysterically. _Boom! _The canon fires. Another trophy for the trophy room.

A small trickle of blood seeps down the side of the tunnel beside Nova and pools in a slight dip just in front of me.

"We'll have to turn back!" Rook calls; "There is no way to keep going forward."

Going back is easier said than done. There is no way for any of us to turn round so we have to shuffle backwards. Nova keeps backing straight into me, his feet kicking at my face. We only make it a couple of metres before the tunnel roars. It sounds like a wild animal that is going to swallow us all up and maybe that is the right description because the roof begins to fall in.

"Move forwards!" Agrippa yells, pushing on my back as a loud rumble echoes behind us. I forget about my hand, about my ribs and the fear. I am moving faster than I thought it possible. I have to get out of this tunnel.

"I can't go any further!" Rook calls.

"Just push her out the way!" Nova calls.

She must take his advice because slowly we all move forward. The grumble of the tunnel is less now, further behind us. A few rocks still drop from the ceiling but the Gamemakers have down their job- we are moving in the direction they want us to go. There is the sound of crumbling and a horrible thud. I get the impression that the whole tunnel has fallen in behind us. I try not to think about it. I draw in another deep breath. We are going to get out of here. We are going to get out of here.

The air grows fresher and the gradient of the tunnel begins to even out. We must be getting to the end. Somehow it begins to feel more spacious, even though I can see Nova's huge shoulders still touch both walls and the ceiling.

I drag myself onwards until the end when I stumble out of the tunnel into another cavern- one I have never seen before but we are not alone.

A boy darts down a tunnel.

"Sparkes!" someone shouts, again another cry for help for the boy from district 5 but he is long gone. Obviously not up to heroics.

I search for the owner of the voice. It is another boy. His light from his lamp shines level with my knees. I don't understand - maybe he is lying down or is sat or maybe he is missing his legs. No… he has fallen into a mud pit and sunk right up to his shoulders. Is still sinking. No wonder Sparkes left him, the amount of suction pulling him down would make it near impossible to pull him out.

Our pack goes over to the pit, the four of us surrounding him. Together we use the handles of our shovels and press him down into the mud.

He doesn't plead with us, or scream for help anymore but tears trickle down his cheeks. He closes his eyes but still the tears flow freely. I can see him trying to keep control. I push a little harder with my shovel and begin whistling an old sea shanty the fishermen at home sing while they work. It is a happy sort of tune, declaring the joys of the sea and it makes me feel a little better. The boy starts to join in with me, his crackled lips making a thin sort of whistle like a soft sea breeze. He is gone before the end of the song. So I finish it as the cannon thunders through the caves.


	12. Chapter 12

It is completely by chance that we find our way back to the cornucopia. We don't return the same way that we had set out as we end up to the rear of it. The tunnels must all be interconnected by a complicated network of caverns.

Unable to see what has become of Jeannie and the supplies, the four of us stay close to the cornucopia, edging around the outside of it. I turn off my headlamp and the others follow my example. Now, if anyone is here we will see them long before they see us. As we reach the mouth of the cornucopia something in my chest gives a lurch as I register the soft beam from Jeannie's headlamp.

She is sat slumped against the wall near the ice block; head leant back, resting against the rock. She looks tired- defeated. I am surprised she is still here at all but then I notice the bloody stain on her right calf. She has tied a strip of fabric around it but still the blood has soaked through.

No other light shines in the whole of the cavern so her attacker must either be well hidden or long gone. Either way my companions must think them to be no threat as they all rush forward. Rook and Agrippa go straight to the backpacks and begin replenishing their supplies. Nova looks down at Jeannie.

"A weapon did that," he says, nodding towards her leg.

"A pickaxe," Jeannie clarifies.

Nova's eyes dart towards the ice block. There are several pits in the side of it where a pickaxe could have got lodged.

"What happened?" I ask, crouching by her side. My ribs throb at the effort but I ignore the pain.

"It was Harrow- District 11," she clarifies. "He had his headlamp off so I didn't see him at all until I just happened to turn my head- just a little- and there he was. He asked me where the supplies were. I didn't tell him but I must have glanced towards the block, or something, because he knew. I tried to stop him with my shovel but he was too quick… He took two of the backpacks… I thought he was going to finish me off- he had me cornered but he heard the girl calling for help so he ran. I just couldn't stop him."

Nova narrows his eyes, "Where did he get that pickaxe from?"

"Same place the boy got the knife from," I say. I think of the sword but I can't tell them about it- can't admit that I couldn't pull it from the cave wall. "Let's get your leg sorted out," I say to Jeannie.

She recoils slightly, "It's fine."

"Yeah, what was I thinking? It looks perfect."

Jeannie glances across at Nova. I get it. She doesn't want him to see how bad it is. Doesn't want the rest of the group to realise just how easy she would be to kill off.

"So what's this Harrow like?" Nova asks.

I try to think back to the training, the interviews- anything- but I can't conjure up an image of the boy from District 11. He must have been very forgettable. I know the name, though, it was him who shot the arrows at us and killed Velvet. A pickaxe, arrows- at least we know where all the weapons are.

"Young" Jeannie tells us, "Fourteen at most- probably younger but he's strong- much stronger than he looks. I underestimated him."

Nova snorts, "You got beaten by a child."

"Not a child- a tribute," I correct him.

"Sure, sure. Well at least he'll be easy pickings."

"Why? Because he's young?"

"Precisely."

"Well I'm fourteen"

"My point entirely," Nova smirks as he goes to join Rook and Nova by the backpacks.

_I hate him! _The minute I get my trident I will be driving it right into his chest. Then he will see just how much of an easy picking I really am.

"Just ignore him," Jeannie tells me.

"Don't worry, I will." I reach into my backpack and begin sorting through my supplies until I find what I am looking for. "I may be a child but I've got something he doesn't." I whisper as I pull the medical supplies to top so she can see.

"Where did you get those?"

I look up towards the sky and I know she understands. "So how about letting doctor Odair take a look at that leg?"

She doesn't resist as I remove the bloodied string of fabric and roll up the leg of her trousers. At first it is hard to know how badly hurt she is as it is still oozing blood. I use the remains of my water bottle to wash it. She hisses as the water touches the wound but doesn't move.

"When did this happen?"

"About an hour ago. I thought you lot were Harrow coming to finish me off."

The wound is the same as the deep pits that are taken out of the ice block, clearly made by the same hand. I can't tell if it has cut through to the bone. I shuffle through the medical supplies but I don't know what can help. I need to stop the bleeding. Something- some half forgotten memory- tells me I should apply pressure to the wound. I take a piece of the bandaging and press it against her calf. The thick, burnt skin of my palm aches with the force I am exerting on it. I shuffle the slightly, trying to get comfortable.

"Watch out, you don't want to sit on that ice. It will burn right through your clothes." Jeannie tells me. She nods towards a small lump of ice that has fallen from the block. She looks at it a moment, her eyebrows knit together thoughtfully then, suddenly, her eyes widen. "Finnick- I know how we can stop the bleeding."

"I'm all ears."

"We need to cauterise the wound."

"Come again?"

"Burn it- with the ice- it will close the wound."

"And just how am I meant to put ice on your leg without touching it?"

She hands me a roll of bandages. "There. Wrap the bandage around your hand, then use it to get the ice and press it to my leg"

"All right... all right- when did you become an expert in wounds?"

"Hollis told me," she says quietly.

"What exactly is the deal with you and Hollis, anyway?"

She shrugs, "I used to clean his house. It was my job after dad lost the printing press." She doesn't quite meet my eyes. I know there is more to this then she is letting on but I don't press her.

I do as she suggests, twisting the bandage around my already blistered palm until the whole roll is gone.

I am tentative about touching the ice and I only give it the quickest pat at first but I feel nothing so I go in again, this time, picking it up properly. I can still feel the cold but it doesn't burn, it is more like the ice that covers the water butt at home after a Winter frost.

"Are you sure about this?" I ask her.

She nods. "Wait!" she grabs at her jacket and stuffs the collar of it into her mouth, then nods at me again, closing her eyes in anticipation.

I glance across at the others but they are round the other side of the ice block, talking animatedly.

Turning back to Jeannie, I take a deep breath and press the ice to her calf. Her whole face tenses in pain, scrunching into a silent scream. I pull the ice away and the smell of seared flesh leaps down my throat, making me gag. I move away from her, unable to manage it any longer. I try to throw the ice away but it is stuck to the bandages so instead I use my free hand to loosen enough iso I can slip my hand through its coils. I rush to the edge of the cornucopia and take in huge gasps of air.

When I turn back to Jeannie she still has the collar of her jacket wedged inside her mouth and her whole body is curled into a tight knot. I wonder if she has passed out from the pain but slowly, she begins to stretch out her leg.

The flesh around the wound is red and black and as raw as my hand once was. This is all right, I think, I know what to put on that. I take the pot of ointment from my backpack and smear it across the wound. Her leg is so warm, I almost recoil but I don't because she needs this ointment and it will make things better. Finally I wrap another roll of bandage around it and pull her trousers over it.

"All done," I tell her. Only then does she start to relax. "You made it."

"What's that smell?" Rook asks from the other side of the block.

"I tried cooking some beef strips with ice," I tell her, "It doesn't work."

I can almost hear the others rolling their eyes at that ridiculous boy from District four. I stuff the medical supplies back into my backpack and seal it up again.

"We better join them," Jeannie whispers.

"Can you walk?" I ask her.

"Of course," she replies. And she does, but I can see it is a struggle. When I try to help her she just pushes me away and limps over to the rest of the group. "So what now?" She asks with a remarkably nonchalant voice.

"There must be weapons hidden somewhere in this arena and we need to find them. That's what's now," Nova says.

"We should head towards the right of the cornucopia- we haven't been there yet," Agrippa suggests.

"I think all of us should go," Jeannie tells them.

"But what about the supplies?" Rook asks. She is sat picking her nails with the point of the knife.

"I think we should take as much as we can carry and destroy the rest- we can't defend it, anyway, so keeping it just gives the others a chance to get some food. If we are sensible we can take enough with us to last a couple of weeks. That way we can all stick together and we aren't tied to the cornucopia."

The group think it over. I can see them weighing it up, trying to figure out if it is a good idea or if she is trying to pull some kind of trick. Agrippa seems to be the first to make up his mind about it.

"How could we destroy what we don't need?"

"In the mud pits," I say, "no one will be able to get them out of those."

"And then we can look for weapons," Nova says.

So it is agreed and the five of us take great care in loading our backpacks, knowing that there will be no chance of getting more supplies. Nova stuffs his bag as full as he can; making sure not a single inch is wasted. I try to think a bit lighter. With my ribs and my hand I am reluctant to load myself up with an overly heavy bag that is going to restrict my movement. I use the plastic food bags to sort my supplies into groups. Then I try and calculate how much food I need for each day, try and estimate how long the games might last and which foods will give me the most energy and that's all I pack, no more. Still, the bag weighs more than I would like but there is nothing in there I can do without.

We sling our backpacks over our shoulders, take the leftovers in our hands and head off away from the cornucopia to the right.

We are lucky and find a pit to throw the bags into only five minutes down the tunnel. We all watch them slowly sink, pressing them down into the muck with our shovels until the last strap disappears. I hope this is the right move.

Then we set off down the tunnels again, Jeannie limping at the back. We twist and turn again but still find no weapons. After several hours Rook suggests that we set up camp and continue looking tomorrow. It is easy for her to grow weary of looking when she has that knife to keep her company. We decide to set up watches- first Nova, then Agrippa, Rook, Jeannie then me.

After yesterday's sleepless night we have no choice but to rest. I am asleep almost immediately but I am woken by the anthem. Three faces in the sky tonight- the girl from District 3, who died in the tunnel, the girl from District 5, and the boy from 10 who sank in the pit. Groggily I see them looking down on me, smiling faces in the sky. I must have fallen asleep again because the next thing I know is I'm awake and Jeannie is screaming.


	13. Chapter 13

The boom of the cannon thumps through my skull.

I sit up.

Jeannie has her hand clasped over her mouth, staring in horror over my shoulder.

"Jeannie- I thought you-"

"Rook?"Agrippa croaks.

I turn.

Rook lies in her sleeping bag. One of the plastic food bags over her head. Agrippa shakes her but we all know it is too late.

"Who did this?" he yells, he turns from me, to Jeannie, to Nova.

"Who was on watch?" Nova asks. He gets up, kneeling next to Rook. I think for a moment he is going to remove the bag but instead he prizes the knife from her grasp.

"What are you doing?" Agrippa yells.

"Well someone should take it."

"If anyone should have it, it should be me."

"Why because you are from the same district?

"Because Rook would have wanted me to take it."

"Well come on then, take it," Nova challenges, holding the knife up in front of Agrippa, daring him to make another move.

But he doesn't, he just scowls; already beaten once by Nova he is reluctant to try again.

"I thought so," Nova says, "Now, who was on watch?"

"Rook was. I saw her sat up- she said she would wake me when it was my turn," Jeannie says, her voice shaking.

I know it was one of the two boys. Rook would have alerted us if it was another tribute. There was no way she didn't know her attacker- trusted him as he slipped the plastic bag over her head. Agrippa seems genuinely upset but I can't tell if that is the loss of Rook or the loss of the knife. Nova clearly doesn't care.

This alliance has suddenly got much more dangerous. It is early for the career pack to be breaking down- too many other tributes in the arena. Traditionally the pack would stay together until the end is in sight but I am not going to stick around for the sake of tradition.

We move on quickly so the hovercraft can take the body and continue with our hunt for weapons. I help Jeannie along as she still struggles with her leg while Nova and Agrippa act out their fight for dominance.

"I've had enough of these caves," Jeannie says as she stumbles over another loose rock.

I have to say I agree with her. The darkness is terrifying; worse than any mutt or violent tribute or anything else the Gamemakers can think of, because it could be anything. There is no way of seeing what is coming up next or where we are going. Darkness breeds fear and uncertainty. This combined with the thick, heavy walls that seem to constantly lean towards us leaves all of us in a blind panic.

Everywhere looks the same. So many tunnels have been blocked off with the walls fallen in- built up too high for anyone to pass. I get the impression the arena is shrinking each day.

Another low rumble. Surely the cave-ins are becoming boring? "Not again," I groan.

The four of us stop a moment; trying to work out from which direction we can hear the rumble. I leave Jeannie leaning against the cave wall and take a look around. There are no falling rocks, no vibrations in the walls. Wherever the cave in is it is not nearby. "We should be all right," I tell the others.

That's when our headlamps cut out. All of them. At once.

The walls begin pressing against me, pushing me further along the tunnel. I have no choice but to keep moving through the darkness.

Things seem to fly towards me out of nowhere, pushing me in strange directions. I lose my footing and fall but still they are pushing me. The floor begins to slope so I roll downwards, no longer sure which way is up and which is down. There is nothing to see but darkness. When I stop rolling I stagger to my feet, dizzy and disorientated as I knock against the walls. The whole world is moving now, spinning round and round except I can't see it, only feel it like a pendulum pulling my body in all directions.

"Hello?" I whisper. Are the others nearby? Were they pushed along by the walls too?

No answer. I'm alone.

I begin to stagger forwards, testing the ground in front of me with my boot before taking the next step. I stretch my arms out and find the walls of the cave. Gingerly I make my way along, listening for any familiar sounds. As usual there is only the distant dripping.

Something drops down onto my back. I leap at least a metre into the air, terrified. I wait for something else to happen- something to attack me. It's then that I realise I have no idea where my shovel ended up; I had it as I rolled but I must have dropped it when I was dizzy. Now this thing- whatever it is- is hiding in the darkness. Somewhere.

I drop down onto my haunches and feel around my feet, stretching as far as I can across the cave floor. My hand brushes against something. I pull back. Nothing happens. I reach towards it again and allow my hands to gently close around it. It is a thin and silky fabric. I pull it into my lap, searching through the folds of material. Something harder sits below the fabric. I weigh it in my hands- quite light and yet substantial. I twist and turn it in my fingers, something clicks and it opens up. I reach inside and feel something flimsy and plastic. Two thin arms connected by a wider band. Then it hits me. I push the plastic onto my face and finally I can see again.

Night-vision glasses.

I laugh. I must be the only person in the whole of the arena who can see a damn thing. My shovel is lying at the base of the slope so I grab it and get on my way, no longer with any cause to be afraid of the dark.

I wonder if I will find anyone else, stumble across them- slink up behind them and take them out. It could be so easy. Just like my father trained me to do.

My tread is light but I walk without inhibition. With the night-vision glasses it is easy to see the shapes in the rock walls, the crystals, the careful way that the walls turn inwards at the top to make a ceiling but leave a strip that is open to the sky to allow a hovercraft access. I must have spent too much time looking at the sky, been too reassured by regaining my sight because it is only once my feet start to sink that I notice the mud pit.

I try lifting my feet but whatever is pulling me down is too strong. I sink down to my knees within a minute. I grip hold of the edge of the pit, trying to pull myself up but I can't. The mud reaches the bottom of my backpack. I slip out of the straps and push it from me as I feel it dragging me down. I keep the shovel, though; I am not going to let that go.

I lean backwards towards the edge of the pit, trying to float on top of the mud but still I sink. I think of the boy yesterday- how we pushed him down until he drowned in it. The way the mud bubbled and gurgled as it slowly swallowed him up.

"Hello?"

I turn my head to see Sparkes from District 5 rushing into the cavern- the same boy who ran from District 10 as he sank. Sometimes life is ridiculous in its irony.

I wonder if I can risk calling out to him. Surely he would never help me- a career from District 4- surely he would just celebrate knowing that another one of our group has left the games. Except, suddenly it occurs to me, he can't see who I am. I could be anyone- an ally.

"Hey!" I call to him, "Can you give me a hand?"

He rushes towards me, almost joining me in the pit.

"Watch it!" I warn him, "Don't want you falling in as well."

"Another pit?"

"Yeah, I can't pull myself out."

"Give me your hand," He calls, reaching out his arm in front of him.

"I can't reach you."

Slowly he edges around the rim of the pit, his arm still stretched out. I watch him as our hands get closer and closer, until they meet.

The sound of the cannon makes us both freeze.

"You still here?" he asks with a nervous smile.

"From the waist up," I tell him.

Sparkes begins to pull me from the pit while I try and push myself up on the side. At first we make no progress but then the pit makes a deep gulping sound and I am pulled upwards slightly. Between the pair of us we manage to drag me to solid ground where we both collapse.

"Thanks," I say. "You didn't have to help me," I tell him.

"Better than letting you sink. I'm Sparkes- District 5" He tells me.

There is a pause while I struggle to think of a name of a tribute. Their faces flash through my mind but I hadn't paid much attention to their names. I try to think of the interviews, or the training room, of the reapings I watched. Suddenly I think of the large boy from District 7 and a name pops into my head.

"Ash- District 7."

"What do you think happened to the lamps? Mine just went out suddenly- I take it that happened to you as well"

"Yeah- must be the Gamemakers," I tell him.

I can see Sparkes debating very carefully about what he is going to say next but eventually he must have come to a decision because he says, "You want to team up for a bit?"

"Sure," I tell him, "I don't fancy falling in another pit without you here."

We don't shake hands- probably because he would never find mine in the dark but we set off through the caves. I start to regret the loss of my backpack when my stomach begins to rumble.

"You found any supplies?" I ask him.

"Just this shield," he holds it up- it looks pretty useless.

"No food, huh?"

"I found some sort of plant growing up the walls- it hasn't killed me yet."

Despite me being the only one who can see, it is Sparkes who leads our way through the tunnels. He is careful in where he walks as I was when I was blinded but, unlike me, it is as if he actually knows where we are going.

"Do you know where we are?"

"Sure, tunnel 2:6:2"

"Huh?"

"I labelled them based on their position from the cornucopia. If you take the second tunnel to the right, then the sixth off of that and the second from that then you get here. If you look closely you can just make out the labels."

"Where?"

"Bottom right of each new opening."

As he leads me into the next tunnel I take care to look down at the bottom right corner and sure enough I can see that someone has written in glowing ink some small, yet visible writing- 2.6

"How'd you do that?"

"Found some glowing insects on the first day so I crushed them up and found that they kept glowing. I didn't want to keep getting lost so I marked up the tunnels."

I decide I like Sparkes. He's clever. He tells me about how he slowly walked all over the arena marking the tunnels. Apparently it's not very big- just feels like it because of the way the tunnels twist and turn. He tells me about the cave-ins and how they always affect the outer tunnels because, as I suspected, the Gamemakers are making the arena slowly smaller to drive us all in closer together, ready for the big finale.

"I think we should rest here," Sparkes tells me, looking down at a tunnel label that says 2:6:4, "There is only one way they can approach us down here- all the other routes have been blocked off."

"Good."

As I settle down I see another parachute appear from out the gap in the ceiling, it lands by my side and I open it immediately.

"You've got a parachute!" Sparkes says in surprise.

"I know, someone must like me," I say, trying to sound surprised.

Inside is a nutty looking stew that I have never seen before. It looks like something someone has plucked straight out of a forest. Sparkes leans in slightly, sniffing in the glorious scent of warm food.

"Is this from District 7?" he asks, "It smells fantastic."

So that's what it is, some sort of lumberjack stew Mags and Hollis have sent me to keep up my deception. "Yeah- just like my mother makes." I hand him a fork, "Dig in."

Sharing my food is the least I can do after he saved my life. We both tuck in and though it is unfamiliar at least it is warm and filling.

"So what's it like in Seven?" he asks me.

"Lots of trees…. You know… and axes. How about 5?" I ask, trying to take the attention away from my complete lack of knowledge about my supposed homeland.

"Ah, we have nothing like that. It's mostly just power plants and ugly cement buildings."

The anthem plays. Rook is first to appear, sneering down at us. The picture is just changing to the boy from District 9 when the cannon fires again but they don't show us who it is. I hope it is not Jeannie. Ten down.

We eat until there is nothing left. There seems little point in saving it; it would be cumbersome to carry it with me now I no longer have a backpack.

Sparkes licks his lips, "Thanks for that, Ash, I haven't had anything proper to eat in ages."

I look down at the shield that Sparkes has left at his side. "Where did you get your shield?"

"Same place you got your shovel, no doubt- I found it in the outer tunnels before the cave-ins. Why?"

"Just wondering."

So that's why we haven't found any weapons- they were probably all gone after the first day- shut off from the tributes as the arena shrunk. There is no way I am going to come across one of those by chance now.


	14. Chapter 14

Things are easier with Sparkes I don't spend the whole time wondering if he is going to kill me. It is hard lying to him but it's not like I can do anything about that now. Besides, he wouldn't have saved Finnick Odair from that pit.

Together we wander the arena, sharing our experiences. We avoid the others, veering away from their whispers and the soft tread of their feet. With my night vision glasses I make sure that Sparkes avoids the pits- he jokingly tells me that I must have a sixth sense for them now.

"Doesn't sound like the arena has treated you too well."

I shrug "It could be worse."

We turn into tunnel 3:3:9 which Sparkes explains is connected to the other end of 2:5:1. The arena is so clear in his head- it seems he has it completely mapped out. Even with his numbering system I still find myself lost in the endless tunnels. I can't picture how they fit together at all.

"Who have you got waiting for you at home?" he asks me.

"My parents. Some friends," I shrug again. It doesn't sound like much when I say it like that.

"No girl?"

"Nope. Never even kissed one."

"Well, there's nothing I can do about that," Sparkes jokes.

"Aw, go on- just a peck," I tease. He playfully beats me away with his shield. "How about you?"

"Yeah." His face drops, "This was my last reaping. Hers too. I was going to ask her to marry me- you know- when I knew we were both safe."

There's not much I can say to that. I could tell him that I'm sorry- and I am- just it doesn't mean much. I could tell him that there is a chance he'll make it- that he could go home to her and live happily ever after but this is a strange place for fairy tales. It could happen but you can't count on anything in the arena.

"What's she like?"

"Now why'd you have to go ask me that? You know I'll say she's wonderful- perfect even."

"But how did you know?"

"Seriously, Ash, you want me to give you dating advice? Here- in the arena?"

"I was just curious- never really thought about it before but now I might never get the chance- it just seems more, you know, significant."

So he tells the story of how he first met Theta whilst at school. He had brought no lunch with him so she offered to share what she had. The next day he shared what little he had with her and soon it became a tradition for them to eat together. He was a little vague about how it happened but somehow, out of lunch, they grew to love each other. It seems so simple.

"How long have we been down here?" he asks, "It is hard to keep track in the dark."

"Four days," I don't even have to stop and figure it out. It has been hanging in the back of my mind for some time. It is the fourth day, tomorrow will be the fifth and I will die.

Mechanically I follow Sparkes into another cavern. My father must been getting anxious back home as he waits to see if I am going to be just like the rest. I wonder how many hours I have left.

This cavern is lighter as there are about a hundred glowing insects zipping around the ceiling like shooting stars. They are quite possibly the most beautiful thing I have ever seen- mesmerising in the way they flit about, almost hypnotic.

"Those are the ones I used to mark the walls." Sparkes turns towards me as he points at them.

He freezes.

"You have night-vision glasses."

"Yes…" awkwardly I take them off. This cavern is so light that it is possible to see everything. Absolutely everything.

Sparkes studies my face, slowly taking in my features. "You're not from District 7, are you?"

"No." I hold out my hand towards him, "Finnick Odair, District 4."

He doesn't take my hand. His face drops, "Is this meant to be some sort of trick? Some plan so you can kill me?"

"You were the one who saved me, remember."

He shakes his head. I am surprised he isn't shouting at me, battering me with his shield. He is angry, though. It is the same quiet anger my mother uses when I do something unforgiveable- anger mixed with sadness and disappointment.

"Why did you lie?" He asks.

"You wouldn't have saved me if you knew who I really was."

He shakes his head again, "No." his voice drops even lower. "Your lot pushed Teff into the pits. You killed Bevel in the tunnel."

There is a moment when neither of us knows what to do. It would be easier if he lashed out- if he gave me something to defend but he only has a shield and I am pretty sure he's not the type anyway. It seems we are locked in a stalemate.

"I actually really liked you," he tells me.

"Yeah- you too."

"I can't stay with you, though- not now."

Whatever trust there was between us is now gone. I bet he wishes he hadn't saved me because it is easier to let someone die than to get to know them, then kill them. I wish I hadn't got to know him, either. I have my shovel but I can't use it on him now. I owe him my life.

Sparkes closes his eyes, "I think it would be best if you just leave."

I put my glasses back on and walk away from him. I take three different turns at a jog, putting as much space between us as possible. I don't look at the labels on the tunnel openings, because I don't really want to think about Sparkes. I didn't deserve him as an ally.

I don't like walking through the tunnels alone. It isn't the same after spending a day chatting with Sparkes. It had felt so normal talking to him. It made it easy to forget the danger. I didn't have to be on constant alert. Strangely whilst pretending to be Ash I was more myself than I ever could be with the other careers.

I reach the cavern with the lake and take my fill of water, scooping handfuls of it into my mouth at a time. I wonder if the sword is still on the island. The bears are still securely trapped in their ice blocks, their yellow eyes glowing. The ice shows no sign of melting yet. There are still too many tributes in the arena.

As if in answer to this thought, the cannon reverberates around the walls. The eleventh trophy added to the cabinet.

It could be Jeannie. Or Sparkes. It could be any of them.

I take a last gulp of water and get to my feet. I should probably move on.

I take the tunnel to the right and see immediately that I am not alone. Someone is sat on the floor at the other end of the tunnel. I raise my shovel above my head and creep forward- just a couple of steps. The tribute doesn't hear my approach so I move in a little closer. Close enough to see who it is. It is a girl with her head buried in her hands, her long hair hiding her features from view. My foot scuffs slightly across the floor making a soft scraping sound. She scrambles to her feet, brushing the tears from her eyes.

"I know you're there!"

"Hey, Jeannie." I go straight up to her and touch her on the arm so she knows exactly where I am.

"Finnick?" She runs her hands up my arms to my shoulders, feels my cheek, my hair... "It's really you, huh?"

"Yeah, it's really me."

"How did you know it was me?"

I take the night vision glasses off and slip them onto her face. Without them everything is in complete darkness. I hold my hand just in front of my nose but I still can't make it out.

"Where did you get those?"

"Well…"

"Don't tell me, some sponsor gave them to you. You really are the Capitol's golden boy, aren't you?" She takes the glasses off and shoves them towards my chest. I take them and slip them back on.

She is walking away from me, her arms wrapped round herself, head bowed.

"Hey…" I begin awkwardly, not really sure what to say. She keeps walking away from me- limping away.

"Just leave me alone, Finnick."

"What's wrong?"

"It's nothing."

"Where are the others?"

"Do you think I care?"

"Just thought you might know."

She doesn't stop. The tunnel is beginning to curve. I can't see what is around the corner. There could be anything there.

"Jeannie stop! Look, I'll give you the glasses!"

"You keep them."

"At least let me look around the corner before you-"

She crumples to the ground, her knees buckling under her. An arrow must have hit her, a spear- something. I rush forward. "Jeannie!"

I look around the corner- there is nothing. There is no one.

I turn back to her. She is holding her head in her hands again. I can hear her sobs.

Awkwardly I place my hand on her back but she shrugs me off. "Leave me alone!"

I move away from her, leaning against the opposite wall. I don't know what to say. Everything seems so dark. "Jeannie…?"

She turns her head away from me. When her hair drops over I face again I know there is nothing I can say to reach her. So I sit there- redundant, looking up and down the tunnel in case someone comes.

The parachute softly falls into the tunnel, landing exactly between the pair of us. Jeannie doesn't even look up. So I carefully take the package and unwrap it. A soft sent of home wafts up my nostrils- lovely and sad. Inside the package is a single flower just like the ones that grow beside the lake in the victor's village. There is no way that this is meant for me. I hold it out towards Jeannie then I realise that she has no way of seeing it.

"Sniff the air," I tell her.

I hear her take a sharp intake of breathe. Slowly she lifts her head. She moves in closer to the flower. I press it into her hand and she takes it, lightly running her fingers over the petals. Fresh tears roll down her cheeks.

"I used to put bunches of them in the dining room," she finally says. "He told me he had no use for flowers- that they had no business being in his home. But they were the first thing I saw after… " she stops herself from going on. Somehow her eyes find mine in the darkness. "I don't want to die."

"I get the impression someone else doesn't want you to, either." I think of Hollis- his breakdown in the hallway, his drinking, the venom he used when speaking to me- it was all out of worry for her. He must love her a great deal.

The sound of the trumpets startle me. I hurriedly get to my feet, waiting to hear what Claudius Templesmith will say. "I would like to invite all tributes to a feast at the cornucopia at dawn where all of you will find exactly what you need. Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favour!"

This will be it- the true bloodbath of the 65th Hunger Games. Supplies have been so scarce that no tribute will be able to resist going, especially with the promise of finding exactly what we need.

"We have to go," Jeannie says, her old resolute voice finding its way again.

Footsteps echo around the tunnel. Jeannie sinks back against the walls whilst I move forward to see exactly who is coming.

Nova and Agrippa stagger into sight, stumbling into the walls. Both look battered and beaten. They both still carry their backpacks but neither has his shovel. I notice Nova still has the knife, though, and he begins to raise it up, ready to strike.

"Agrippa! Nova!" I call, "There you are!"

"District 4?" Nova says. I notice the knife falling to his side.

"That's right- both of us."

"How did you know it was us?" Agrippa asks.

"We could hear the pair of you talking from a mile off. How about that feast, eh?"

"Exactly what we need,"

"As long as we can find our way back to the cornucopia," Agrippa says, "We've been wandering these tunnels for hours now and all we've found are cave-ins."

No wonder they look so battered. They must have been wandering the outer tunnels.

"I have a feeling I might just be able to find our way there."

They slap me on the back as I explain how I have figured out the route back. I don't explain about how the tunnels are labelled but pretend that I had been at the cornucopia earlier today and so could remember the route.

We are in the middle of planning our strategy when the anthem plays and a single face floats in the sky- Sparkes- District 5. So they must got him less than an hour after I left his side. I think of his girl- Theta- who must be watching back home. A lump forms in my throat but I can't let the others see that I'm upset.

"Oh him!" I say, "I met him in the tunnels- lucky I didn't kill him myself- all he had was a shield." And a kind heart. A good sense of humour. And a girl waiting for him to come home.


	15. Chapter 15

Dawn in the caves looks the same as any other time. We arrive at the cornucopia at some point during the night and spread ourselves out around the cavern, crouching in the shadows. Perhaps the other tributes have done the same- it's hard to tell, even with the night- vision glasses. All thirteen of us could be here, hiding in the cavern's various nooks. It could be driving the Capitol wild knowing we are all within a few metres of each other. The suspense begins killing even me.

Today is the fifth day in the arena. No Odair has ever made it beyond this point. But I will, I tell myself, I will because I have to. I am going to survive this and go back home and live the rest of my life in peace.

My heart thumps violently, sending a deadly pulse through my entire body. Every muscle is poised for the feast to start. If nothing happens soon there is a chance that I might explode, simply from trying to hold myself back. There is still nothing to see by the cornucopia.

I have the advantage- the minute anyone runs forward I will see them and even if all I have is a stupid shovel I will still be able to take them out. I can do this.

A flash of light illuminates the cavern like a lightning bolt. Through squinting eyes I can finally see the feast: a tempting hoard of weapons, food and other supplies- it is what it should have been on the first day. The Capitol really will have their bloodbath.

Our group had agreed that Nova should go forward first with the knife and begin gathering supplies while we covered him from the outskirts of the cavern but seeing what the feast has to offer there is no way I'm going to hold back.

I rush towards the supplies; through my glasses I see the other tributes doing the same, unaware of each other in the darkness. Another flash of lightening and everyone is visible. They exchange glares and some veer towards each other ready to clash weapons.

I am vaguely aware of Nova shouting at me to get back but I keep running. There is no way I'm letting him get all the weapons. An arrow whistles past my ear, narrowly missing me. Keep running, I think, _make yourself hard to hit_. So I zigzag my way towards the supplies, jumping and ducking at random.

There is a groan to my left. The thirteen year old- Harrow- has jammed his pick axe into the boy from District 6. He pushes it hard into his back and as the boy drops he pulls the pickaxe back out, raising it again-ready to strike. I watch as Harrow's face is illuminated by a lightning bolt. He turns and smiles at me, pointing towards me.

Alarm bells scream inside my head- this is it; he is going to kill me! I run for the cornucopia as fast as I can. I know I'm quicker than he is. I rush round to the other side of the pile, hoping to put as much distance as I can between myself and that pickaxe.

Another lightning bolt splits the sky as I grab hold of a spear, dropping my worthless shovel. Harrow emerges from around the pile, the smile still plastered across his face. Quickly I grab a knife and stuff it into my belt. I'm ready to face him now. I have no choice but to be ready- I sweep to the side just as he swishes the pickaxe down towards me. It only narrowly misses. As he lifts it again I stab my spear at his stomach, grazing his ribs but he is quick to recover and again he lunges forward- blind but persistent. It is as if he can sense exactly where I am- perhaps it is the pounding of my footsteps on the hard floor or the gasp of my breathing but every time he swings that pickaxe it heads straight towards me. As the lightning strikes again I skirt around the pile of weapons to move out of his way, pushing a bundle of shields towards him.

"What's wrong?" He asks, "Scared I might ruin that pretty face?"

"Not really," I tell him, "There is no way I will ever look worse than you."

The lightening flickers again, highlighting all the arena activity just for a moment before it vanishes again into blackness. Another arrow whistles past me as I duck the pickaxe again. It must be Harrow's district partner. The arrows seem to be flying from out the mouth of the cornucopia. I can just make her out. I throw my spear towards her but it falls just short and clatters pathetically to the ground.

Other tributes are starting to back away now, either they have what they need or they daren't risk coming in closer.

I grab the knife from my belt and use the moment of darkness to dig it into Harrow's leg. He stumbles ungainly, almost dropping his pickaxe as his leg collapses beneath him.

The lightening flickers so I can watch the agony on his child-like face. He struggles to lift the pickaxe again, too absorbed in the pain in his leg. I move towards him. He's mine.

I reach forward to pull him into a headlock when horrible screeching seems to rupture my skull. My knife clatters to the ground as I cover my ears. All the other tributes are doing the same. I look up. About a thousand bats are circling around the roof of the cavern – their wings beating frantically. More fly in from every direction, brushing past me as they dip and dive.

The screeching cuts right through my mind- it is impossible to think any more. It runs through me like spasms and I can no longer control myself- puppet-like I move- dragged towards the centre of the cavern by some unknown force.

The walls are moving again- rippling like the surface of water. Dizzily I am thrown backwards towards the pile of weapons. Frantically I gather up as many as I can- tucking knives into my belt, taking another spear… my hands work quickly because the screeching is yet to stop and I know, without a doubt, that something is about to happen.

The bats swoop lower, their wings beating close to my face, I try to brush them away but soon a whole group of them have formed a thick cloud around me. I can't even see the other tributes. The screeching is so loud and so high that I think my ear drums might burst. I strike them with my spear but still they circle me. I wait for their claws to catch me or their jaws to bite but they just continue to flap wildly, obviously waiting for some cue. There is no way these are ordinary bats.

As I look around I catch glimpses of other tributes- mouths wide- screaming- except I can't hear them. I can hear nothing but the bat's cry. Not even the beating of my own heart.

The lightning strikes again and the bats ease off a little. Finally I have a clear view of the arena and the other tributes. Except they aren't tributes at all… Somehow while I was surrounded by the bats the Gamemakers must have replaced the other tributes with these… mutts. There is no other word to describe them. For each of the tributes that had gathered around the cornucopia there is now a mutt in their place. Snarling and spitting they all have their weapons poised and ready to strike.

I know I call out- I can feel the vibrations in my chest, feel the searing pain in my ribs- but I still don't hear it. I can no longer even hear the bats. I have gone completely deaf.

But there is no time to worry about this as the whole pack of mutts rush towards me. I grip my spear tightly. I am not going down without a fight- even if the Gamemakers have set up this whole situation just to kill me.

The strange thing is that I am not the only one attacking them. They also attack each other. Bloodthirsty to the extreme these mutts don't care who or what they kill as long as everything around them is dying.

I rush towards the Harrow mutt- he has his pickaxe held high in the air. The cut on his leg no longer bothers him- he walks with apparent ease. He will be the first mutt I kill. The walls ripple again as I move forward and the floor feels like I am plodding through sponge but I keep going. The Harrow mutt is only a few metres from me when the Nova mutt leaps on top of him and rips him apart with his claws. His chest splits open and blood gushes out in softly undulating waves, seeping through the air like a noxious gas. The mutt cannon pounds through my body like an electric current but still I hear nothing.

To my right the girl from 12 is ripping into the boy from 8 while he gnashes his teeth and jabs at her with a short sword.

My blood is boiling- I have to kill them. I have to get rid of these freaks of nature. They move with an unnatural assurance that no real tribute ever has. The way they rip through each other is bestial, cutting into flesh, slashing at torsos. Another cannon rumbles through me.

I move around the edge of the group and that's when I see the very worst of them. She is fighting with the mutt version of the girl from 10 using a metal bat to crush her bones. Somehow they have turned a version of Jeannie into this monster. How could they have used her in this way? I am filled with unimaginable rage- I can't think of anything else. Everything is shrouded in a red haze.

I stomp towards her- dreamlike because my body feels almost weightless. As she leans over the tiny twelve year old I grab hold of her hair and push her to the ground.

"I'll kill you! I'll kill you!"

She tries to push me away but I am too strong- I have her pinned against the rock- there is no way she can go anywhere. I drive my spear into her stomach- over and over again. This monster shall not live. I will find the real Jeannie and we will go home together- I won't let this creature take her place. The mutt is writhing in agony but I don't care- it deserves to die. Its disgusting blood oozes out- thick and inhuman.

The lightening flickers. I see the mutt's lips call out my name in a last heady breath before she collapses beneath me.

The pulse of the cannon pushes me off her and I fall backwards through the air. My hand loosens and the spear drops silently to the ground.

The mutt girl from District 10 flies at me but I fling her aside. The battle rages on. The mutts tear into each other. My head gives another lurch. The bat cry has affected me pretty badly. I should go and find the others- let the mutts kill themselves off.

I run towards the mouth of a tunnel but it swings in front of me and I can't make it stop. I knock into the wall and scrabble desperately along the rock. Mindlessly I stagger through the tunnels, my ears still ringing with the cry of the bats. I can feel myself slipping away and I can't hold on any longer but I try.

I run only half-conscious- the strange ringing wrenching my body in many opposite directions. I don't know which way to go- I can't read Sparkes' labels. I could be heading anywhere.

In the tunnel to my right something slowly drops from the sky- maybe another bat- I run towards it and catch it in my hands just as I collapse to the ground and completely black out.

* * *

><p><strong>AN- Sadly the holidays are now so I won't be able to update every day. I will, however, try to update several times during the week. <strong>


	16. Chapter 16

Faces float above me: My parents smile, Eoghan gives me the thumbs up while his little sister insistently pushes him away; Hollis folds his arms across his chest- reminding me that I'll never survive, and Mags pushes the brooch with the sea monster into my hands. When I look down at it the creature's many heads slither towards me, nipping at my hand. I throw it away from me and the ringing fills my ears again, dragging me back into the depths.

The next time I awake some warped sounds twist inside my ears. I think it is someone talking. I move my heavy head and see Agrippa and Nova staggering towards me holding a burning lantern high in the air. They have a half-crazed look in their eyes as they swing across the floor to the cavern, being knocked off their feet by the constant ripple of the walls. Are they the mutts? Is it really them? I can't tell. When Agrippa talks he sounds like a foghorn- loud and discordant. I try to move but it isn't easy, it feels as though all my limbs are locked in place. I reach out towards my left arm; somehow it doesn't feel like my own any more. Something is bunched between my fingers- my spear, I think. I manage to sit up. Nova and Agrippa are still trying to move towards me but the tunnel is very long and no matter how fast they move it seems like they can't reach me.

The foghorn blears again and somehow I know what it means "He's over there," It says. The light from the lantern flashes into my eyes. Using the cave wall for support I drag myself to my feet. Something stirs the air and my head is dragged in a circular motion with it.

I look at Nova and Agrippa again. Take in the weapons, the lantern, and the manic looks on their faces. They are the mutts come to finish me off. I force my stiff limbs to work. As I look down I see the brooch again, still pinned to my jacket. Thankfully the heads are still.

"He's got a parachute," the foghorn says sounding both impossibly loud and quiet at the same time as the sound becomes warped by the ripples.

The parachute lands by my feet and I pick it up, adding it to the bundle of things I'm carrying. "It's not the first one I've got," I tell them. "Those people in the capitol- they love me."

The mutts snarl.

"They've protected me from the cold, given me food, and medicine, and night-vision glasses and they've given you nothing!" I sound like I'm drunk, the words are elongated and spluttered at strange intervals but I think they get the point. The pair of them lurch forward but the arena moves and somehow they miss me, falling in a heap on the cave floor, clutching at their heads and screaming and struggling as though trying to escape themselves. Even the Gamemakers like me- they are destroying their own mutts for me so I can survive.

The glowing label at the base of the next tunnel calls me onward. I drag my body towards it. I will reach it. This is where Sparkes wants me to go so that's where I shall go.

The floor falls towards me as I reach the opening of the tunnel. Once again, everything turns to darkness.

Next time I awake I feel a little more like myself but I force myself to lie completely still, just looking at one spot to my right. Nestled by my side is the small girl from District 10. The side of her face is completely covered in blood but she is asleep- completely oblivious to the world, one of her fingers curled around the edge of my jacket. I don't even have to question whether or not she is a mutt. I know she is real. Something about her reminds me of Eoghan's sister. For some reason I don't want to think about home.

I begin to look around, waiting for the walls to move or the ringing to burst through my ears. But it doesn't. As I lift my head from the ground everything begins to ripple again, my perceptions bending. How long have I been out for?

The girl stirs, rolling over in her sleep. She would be completely at my mercy lying there like that. I could kill her as easily as I can kill a fish but there is something despicable about killing a sleeping child in the dark. Instead I move away from her. My eyes still unable to focus, I gather up my things. I notice the parachute in my lap.

I click open the canister and find a small vial containing a golden syrupy looking mixture. When I open the top of the bottle and sniff it I find it smells like aniseed. As my blurred vision swoops images around me I hold up the vial. "Cheers!" I drink it down before my mind has even twigged that it could be poison. It tastes horrible. I throw the vial away as I gag.

The sleeping child yawns. I gather up everything around me, unable to tell if it belongs to me or the girl. It doesn't really seem to matter.

I stagger away from her, I don't want to be by her side when she wakes up- maybe she will not be as sentimental as me. She seemed pretty handy with that axe. Maybe the careers will find her. I wonder where they are now- still fighting the effects of the bats like me? I struggle to try and remember my encounter with Agrippa and Nova but everything from the last time I was awake seems so fragmented that I cannot piece it together. Jeannie wasn't with them, though. She must be hiding in another part of the arena.

The temperature drops again as I approach the entrance of another cavern. It is impossible to tell how far I have stumbled because time too has become skewed in my mind. It seems to take a very long time for each breath to be drawn in to my exhausted body, yet I can feel my heart fluttering like a hummingbird inside my chest.

I think I remember where I am- something about the place seems familiar. I think I see something that I know but my eyes are too heavy and I can't keep them open. I have to sleep, if only for a moment. I let the liquid from the vial take over my mind. I don't think my head has even touched the ground before I am asleep…

Piercing eyes glare at me. A face contorted with pain. A hand reaching out towards me.

I awake shivering. I try and open my eyes to chase away the horrible images but I soon realise that they are already open and that the eyes, the face, the hand- none of them are a dream.

I'm in the trophy room and it's her- Jeannie- who is haunting my waking dreams. I don't even remember hearing her cannon fire. I never saw her face in the sky- never knew that she had been taken from us. From me. Oh god, Hollis…

I get to my feet and stand opposite her. When did this happen? Why wasn't I there to protect her? I lean forward to look at her card. 'Exhibit 15- Jeannie O'Brien, District 4, sent from here care of Finnick Odair, District 4.'

I have to read it several times before it sinks in. Care of Finnick Odair.

_What?_

Still I can't quite make sense of it. When…? How….?

Warped images of my last few waking hours swim around my mind- I turn them over and over trying to see the moment when I did this. Trying to see how I could have possibly done it. I try to think of the last time I saw her. I remember the cave and the flower and talk of the feast. The feast- Harrow with his pickaxe- the screeching bats- the mutts attacking each other… Something stops me from thinking about it too much. Something stops me quite getting there. The spears, the knives- Nova ripping Harrow apart. They were all mutts except…

I look around the trophy room. It seems so full now. Sixteen ice blocks in total. Harrow is positioned right next to Jeannie and, sure enough, Nova is listed as his killer. They weren't mutts.

It must have been the bats. I had thought they were there to deafen us- to disorientate us as the mutts attacked but it seems there was more to them than that. Something in their high frequency screeches that called us all to arms- called us all to slaughter everyone around us. Such a weapon could be used against entire enemy armies. They would die without a single troop being sent in.

I try to force myself to remember. Force myself to face it. Again only slithers of information get through- the cornucopia…. The spears… Pickaxe… Harrow… Nova… Jeannie…

I thought she was a mutt. Thought I was somehow getting rid of another of the Capitol's cruel tricks. Instead I killed my closest friend in the arena. My district partner. The girl my mother told me to look out for. I had been worried about dying on the fifth day like the others and, it seems a part of me- the decent part- did.

I begin to choke on the foul cavern air, spluttering on my realisation. I killed her. I killed Jeannie.

I try to crumble under the weight of it. I screw my face up in a tight knot, trying to make the tears flow but nothing happens. I try to find that terrible pang that I felt when Sparkes died, to feel the uncontrollable grief that the situation deserves, but I can't. I can't make myself. It has gone. Whatever it was that allowed me to feel these things has gone. A shiver runs down my spine. I knew I was changing, knew that everyone had to so they could survive but I didn't expect this. I so desperately want to feel something.

She's gone. Jeannie's gone.

Nothing. I can't make the sadness come. I can't feel the desperation or the loneliness that I should. It is me the capitol has turned into a mutt- a bestial, unfeeling mutt.

A roar explodes from my chest. I can't stay here any longer. I can't stand just looking at her knowing what I have done without even having the decency to break down.

I stoop to pick up my things that had been strewn around me. That's when I notice the unopened parachute and the large parcel attached to it. I claw at it, ripping the packaging into shreds and when I see it a burst of laughter slips out.

My trident.

It is perfect in every way. Golden. Perfectly proportioned. Deadly.

That's something at least- this Finnick will certainly have no trouble in using it. Finally I will be the career tribute they all supposed I should be.


	17. Chapter 17

Running is one thing I never thought I would be doing once I had my trident. Yet here I am running faster than I have ever run in my life.

As soon as I heard the distinct sound of splitting ice I knew I wouldn't have long. The Gamemakers seem to want to make sure there are less of us by the end of the day. I try to figure out in my mind where I should go- which part of the caves have the fewest ice blocks but I can't picture how the tunnels fit together. If I head towards the centre of the arena I will reach the cornucopia and the block with all the weapons would have cracked- but I don't need weapons and I would have to fight the bear. There are more mutts by the lake and at least three other chambers. It was only the outer caverns that were free of them and they might all be lost by the cave-ins. Still, by heading away from the cornucopia I at least have a chance. So I dart down tunnel 3:5, searching for the higher numbers and relative safety. There is nowhere to hide in this arena- except in the darkness. Nowhere to go that would be out of reach. The only way of avoiding these mutts is to out-run them.

As I go down 3:5:9 I hear their roars in the distance but the distance still isn't far enough. I make another turn. I have just got to the end of the tunnel when I notice a possible solution. Hidden in a strange jut in the wall there is a much smaller tunnel- similar to the one we hunted the District 3 girl in- only just big enough for one person. Sparkes must have missed it with just his dim headlamp as it is not labelled but with my night-vision glasses it is perfectly clear. I think of the size of those bears- they must be at least eight foot tall- there would be no way that they could ever fit. If I went far enough down the tunnel they wouldn't even know I was there.

I push my trident inside and crawl after it. The walls of this tunnel are much smoother- easier to move down- as if they are made out of polished stone. This tunnel curves around quickly so it follows the same pathway as the main tunnel- taking me further out. Hiding in here seems as good a plan as any so I move along the tunnel further. It could lead anywhere- another cave-in could crush me completely but it has to be better in here than it is running from the mutts. I have had more than enough of mutts.

Compared to the rest of the tunnels this one is positively inviting. Even the air feels a little warmer. I move along it, no longer feeling the usual sense of claustrophobia that usually grips me.

The cannon booms. I wonder how many of us are left now. Any number of us could be dead. I don't know how many died in the bloodbath, how many were killed while I lay senseless in the dark. Perhaps I am one of the final few?

I keep going, trying not to think too much about the others. This tunnel must lead somewhere- there must be some horrible reason why it is so appealing. One thing I have learnt from watching the games is that it is usually the most welcoming things that prove to be the most deadly.

As I move further and further along the tunnel I notice the slightest prick of bright light. Even this small beam is too much for my eyes and I am forced to turn away but it is so tempting to look. I haven't seen the sun in over a week and my body starves for it. With my head turned down to the floor, I hurry along the tunnel. My eyes ache, I am blinking wildly but I don't stop until I reach the end.

I put my night vision glasses into my pocket and slowly turn my face towards the brilliantly warm light. Slowly, ever-so-slowly I begin to open my eyes- just the tiniest slit at a time. Something brushes by my cheek so I jerk backwards in surprise, my eyes suddenly wide open. But I can't see what it is. I scramble out of the tunnel and the bold sunshine warms right through me.

It is a garden. A small garden surrounded by rocks and filled with wild flowers and a swarm of butterflies. So many colours and patterns and shapes and sizes. They flutter past me. I can't take my eyes off them. Of all the things I thought I might see in the arena this is not one of them. A large silvery blue butterfly lands on the end of my trident, its wings softly quivering. My body tenses as I wait for something to happen- wait for it to attack- but it doesn't. It just sits there, completely at odds with the whole situation.

The sky is a glorious orange sunset. For the first time in over a week I can see what time of day it is. I can hear birds; take in deep breaths of sweet air; it is so quiet here I can hear each delicate swish of the butterfly wings.

Over the far side of the garden is a pond. I kneel at the edge of it, gathering water up in my hands and spreading it over my face, slurping it up. I hadn't realised how thirsty I am. When I look up I see a tangle of vines hanging off the outer wall of the caves. Just what I need. I take off my jacket, leave my trident, and plunge into the pond, walking across to the vines. The water is shallow and warm so I sink my whole body into it up to my neck and swim in the shallows. When I reach the vines I tug on the nearest one until it collapses into the water with a triumphant splash. Then I pull down the next and the next, until I have enough and can wade back to the edge of the pond.

I look around me but the garden still looks as empty and as untouched as it did before. I am completely alone. I sit at the edge of the water next to my trident and begin to weave the vines and knot them together. With my fingers busy with the work my mind slowly begins to wander.

I always used to make the nets at home. After a hard day they always seem to make everything feel easier- simpler. No matter what has happened this is something I can count on- that if I tie and weave the strings in the right way they will make a net and I can go out to the cool waters and catch fish. Some things never have to change. There is always comfort in that.

All the ghosts of my home seem so far away- even the golden beaches seem to be some sort of distant dream. Some story I was once told. As I think of the places and the people I am met with the same emptiness I felt in the trophy room. I know I want to go home but it doesn't pull me there like it once did. There is no longing left. It isn't right but I can't make myself feel it.

The net is almost done when Nova steps into the garden. I nearly don't hear him, though the garden is close to silent. Something in the air here seems to muffle the outside world. The sky is still blazing orange although at least an hour has gone by. The position of the sun hasn't changed. It is as if time has stood still.

Nova looks in bad shape. His jacket is torn. There are huge slashes across his chest but still he walks upright. He has a short sword and shield- probably from the bloodbath- but they hang limply by his sides. When he sees me he smiles.

"Finnick. So this is where you have been hiding out."

"Not hiding," I tell him. I tie up the last of the knots and hold up my finished handiwork.

"Pretty," he says snidely.

My trident lies at my side, hidden by the flowers. I twist my fingers around its handle but keep it out of sight.

I eye up the wounds across his chest, "See you've been at the teddy bear's picnic."

"They killed the girls from 9 and 10," he shrugs, "Saved me a job."

I had only heard one cannon since the mutts were released. The other must have been while I was here in the garden. For some reason no sounds from the games seem to reach this part of the arena.

"There can't be many of us left now."

"Six."

And we both know there is about to be one less. I see the muscle in his sword arm tense slightly but he still doesn't raise his weapon. I wonder if he still thinks I will be easy pickings.

"Your Capitol friends still giving you hand-outs?" he asks me.

"Naturally. They tend to support the person they know will win."

His jaw tenses. It is clear that he has been sent nothing.

"You haven't won the games yet." His eyes search me again, trying to find something he can use against me. "I notice you killed off your district partner by the cornucopia."

"Someone had to."

"You're not the pathetic little boy I thought you were," there is something that almost sounds like respect in the way he says it-respect and disgust. "And I thought it was only Agrippa who could sink that low."

So that's who killed Rook. No wonder she didn't fight him. She was probably half asleep when he slipped the bag over her head.

"Did you want something to drink?" I gesture towards the pond. He eyes me with suspicion and he mutely shakes his head. He finally raises his sword.

"Your sponsors give you a weapon?"

Like he really expects me to answer that. I still keep the trident out of sight but I gather up the net in my free hand. He watches my fingers coil around the vines, staring in confusion.

"What are you going to do with that?"

"Nova?"

"Yeah?"

"You think maybe we can get this over with? I plan on getting home before my next birthday."

"Right." He lowers his stance, waits for me to move but I don't- I want him to come to me because right now I am calling all the shots.

A butterfly loops between us. I allow it to catch my attention- letting my eyes wander while my mind is fixed on Nova. He takes the bait.

He runs straight at me with the short sword. I wait until he is almost upon me then I spring to my feet using my net to bat him away with one hand while driving my trident deep into the top of his left leg. There is a sickening sound of impact but I pull it free. The blade of the sword is tangled in the netting and as he tries to pull it out I punch my trident into his stomach. He falls backwards, dropping the shield to the ground and tugging at the netting as he tries to keep hold of the short sword. One whip of the netting and the sword is beyond his reach. He grabs the shield as I go in for a third strike. The metal clunks hollowly against the shield. Nova is crawling along the floor now but he is mine- there is no way he can escape.

"How do you feel getting beaten by a child?" I ask him.

I bat at the shield with the net, trying to knock it out of the way but he holds it steadfast. He can do nothing but delay the inevitable now. In an ill-timed oversight he moves the shield slightly to the side and this is enough. I drive my trident through his neck and hold it there a moment as he splutters and gasps. When I rip it free he lets out the ghost of a scream through his ripped vocal chords.

Since when did killing become so easy?

He twitches and judders for a while then lies completely still. Again the cannon isn't heard but after a while the hovercraft appears in the sky so I move away and let them take the body.

Finally I have shown them exactly what I can do.


	18. Chapter 18

Only five of us left now. Or is it four? Three? It is impossible to know. I'm cut off from everything.

The sky is still burning above me- the exact same shade of orange. It no longer looks beautiful; my eyes are so weary of it. I have been here hours- maybe even a whole day and nothing has changed apart from the bloodied stain on the grass where Nova fell. The butterflies circle around my head- they never rest, always busily landing on the flowers, fluttering around, gambolling together.

Not knowing what is happening is agony. The whole of Panem is watching the events played live on television screens. They get to watch the horrors, the heartaches, the triumphs- they can watch it all. They can even watch me still sat here, waiting for the end.

Are the mutts still chasing down the other tributes? Have there been any battles? Who is there left? Are they armed? Will the Gamemakers lead them to the garden? How many more days will I have to wait?

I can't stand it. I circle the garden again, trying to keep myself busy. I strain my ears to catch even the slightest sound but there is nothing. Nothing but sunlight and butterflies and flowers. Maybe another tribute is on their way now? Nova managed to find the tunnel- why not someone else? I go back to my trident, clutching it in my hands, practicing swinging it around my head, jabbing at the air, driving it into some invisible enemy. But nothing and no one comes into the garden.

I know I should sleep- try and rest up ready for whatever it is that is going to come but the lights are so bright and I have so many questions running round my head that I know I would never be able to switch off.

The bandage on my ribs has become loose and it doesn't offer the support it should so I set about trying to adjust it. When that is done I wash my hands in the pond and use the outer wall of the cave to scrape off the dead skin that peels off the burn. I clean my trident. I clean my whole body. I check the netting to make sure the tension is right. I eat. I drink. Small things. Anything. They don't take my mind off the games, though. Nothing can distract me for long.

I look towards the tunnel- something is happening out there- something I should be a part of. No one wants to watch me hiding in a butterfly garden until the games are over. That's not what victors do. I should be out there facing the danger- fighting for my survival. It might be horrific, it might be baffling, it might be the death of me but I can't stay here waiting any longer. I have already lost so much of myself that it is hard to believe I can lose any more. I have to take this into my own hands. Whatever it is that is going to happen, needs to happen.

I put on my jacket, my glasses, take my trident, grab my net and exit the garden through the tunnel. I don't look back. I don't think about the small haven I am leaving behind. I could go mad just waiting there. Too much is left unknown.

The further away I get from the garden the colder it gets and the more my senses seem to return to me. I become aware of everything- the dripping in the caves, the faint rumble of the walls, the smell of stale air, the taste of it. Everything closes in tighter around me. Even with the glasses my eyes take a moment to adjust. I had forgotten how dark it is in the caverns. Somehow the garden dulled all of these things.

As I move into the main tunnel the rumbling gets louder- the walls are actually shaking. These outer tunnels won't be here much longer. Not now I have left the garden for there is no reason to keep them. I am no longer cut off from the arena so they are going to make sure I am part of it. Bits of rock tumble towards me, the roof begins to fall in but I am already running out the way. Everywhere around me is collapsing- every tunnel, every wall- everything crumbles into dust. They're not leaving much for the tourists, I think.

I know where I have to go. There is one place that they won't touch with the cave-ins. The moment I first saw it I knew they would lead us all back there for the final battle. It is too much for them to resist.

When the cannon blast shatters the air it takes the wall to my left with it. I throw myself forward as the rocks fall in a landslide. Ahead of me is the same- rocks dropping all over the place, in a matter of moments there could be nothing left and I could be crushed under it.

A rock bashes into my shoulder as I scramble to my feet but I don't let myself think about it. If I stop then I am dead.

I can't see the labels on the tunnels but my feet know where they are going. I trust my instincts to guide me to safety- just like Mags told me to do. It is all just a game of luck anyway. You could be the best there is and still find yourself crushed in a cave-in.

Back in the tunnels it is easy to know what is happening. The other tributes will be running too and all of us will be headed in the same direction. If the Gamemakers are tearing the arena down around us they clearly don't think this is going to last much longer.

Another turn, another wall to dodge but I can see it- the faint eerie glow in the distance. It spurs me on. I force myself to run harder and the cracking rock thunders down around me in every direction. I make a last final leap for the cavern and roll into the trophy room just as the walls of the tunnel outside fall down over the entrance, blocking it off completely.

By the eerie glow of the fallen tributes I see Agrippa. He is pressed up against Rook's ice block by the girl from District 12. From the look on his mangled face I can tell he is in agony as the ice sizzles through his skin. I can't help but laugh. It is as if Rook is somehow getting her revenge. As I look at the girl it suddenly hits me who she is- the girl with the flail. Except she doesn't struggle with that ridiculous thing now, she has a sword on her back and a knife at Agrippa's throat. The blade is pressed closer and closer to his neck as Agrippa struggles to hold it back with his bare hands. He has no weapon now. There is only so long he will be able to hold her back for.

His eyes dart across to me- pleadingly. I know what he wants me to do but I don't move right away. He deserves to suffer a bit longer.

I guess this is what it comes down to: the three of us. If I kill the girl now then that leaves just Agrippa and me. He is without a weapon and I have my trident. Surely there is going to be no competition there. If I leave Agrippa to the girl then she will turn on me. Maybe she knows how to use that sword; she clearly isn't useless with that knife. Perhaps there is a small chance that she could beat me.

I rush forward- the girl still hasn't noticed me, she is too preoccupied with trying to dig her knife into Agrippa's neck- a noble distraction certainly, but a fatal one.

I wrap my net around her body and drag her to the ground. She tries to free herself from the vines with her knife but she is too disorientated and ends up just jabbing it wildly. I stand on the edge of the net, pinning her to the floor. Still she fights it, stretching the knife towards me but I am beyond her reach. I jab my trident down into her side like she is a particularly large catch I've got floundering about on the bottom of my boat. A catch this size could only ever be consumed by the capitol. And consume it they will. Dramatically I spin the trident around my head before bringing it down again. I bet they are lapping this up. The knife drops from her hands but still she flaps wildly beneath the net so I jab her again until she falls still. And there you have it- the catch of the day.

As the cannon sounds I turn towards Agrippa, "You are very welcome-" I begin to say but Agrippa isn't there.

Slowly I turn to look around the cavern. I look between the ice blocks; I turn towards the openings- there is only one left now. He must have run away- too scared to try and face me. Pathetic. I even would have let him have the girl's knife.

"Agrippa!" I call, mockingly, "Aren't you going to come back and thank me?"

I kneel by the side of the girl and untwist my net from her body. I don't look at her. Instead I turn again to look for Agrippa.

"I promise I'll play nice!" I whip the net up into my hands so it is ready for its next catch.

I move towards the tunnel opening, but I still can't see him. Just darkness and fallen rocks. Once again I am all alone with the fallen tributes. I am just about to turn back into the cavern when he grabs me from behind, wrapping a garrotte around my neck. I have no choice but to fall backwards against him.

"Drop the trident," he tells me. When I don't move he shakes me slightly, pressing my neck against the thin wire. "Drop it!"

It clatters to the ground. I tighten my hold on the net. Maybe there is some way I can trap him. I reach up one hand to the garrotte and squeeze my fingers between my neck and the wire. Maybe I can push it away. He is strong, though. I jerk my head backwards smashing it into his nose but he still holds me fast. One of his legs weaves between mine, trying to trip me so I fall forwards into the garrotte but each time his foot moves to trip me I move mine as well, holding myself firmly on the ground. I jab my elbows into his ribs, still try to force the garrotte from my throat. I jerk the net so it hits him across the back but he doesn't even flinch.

"You've got a bit of fight in you, haven't you?" He coos.

I'm not going to let him win. The garrotte is cutting into my fingers now and my head is getting light. If he is allowed to wrench the thing backwards then it will be game over. As our feet twist in and out of each other I flick my leg upwards into his groin. In this moment of distraction I am given enough space to slip under the garrotte. I elbow him and he crumples backwards.

Quickly I grab my trident and drive it into his chest before he has a chance to get up. The blow is a good one. There is no way he can survive. As he lays there bleeding he begins to laugh again. The more I hit him, the more he laughs. It echoes around the arena right up until the cannon blasts, a faint echo clinging to the walls.

I collapse to my knees. I've done it. I've won. I wait for the relief to flood through my body- for the adrenaline to disappear and the exhaustion to set in but it doesn't. I look up at the sky. I want to see the hovercraft as it arrives. See it suddenly appear out of the nothingness.

"This is no time to rest."

I turn but before I even get a chance to see who it is an arrow penetrates my left arm near the elbow. "You're not much of a shot." I say, turning to the girl from District 11 as I break off the end of the arrow.

"I get by."

She comes in closer. Hanging from her belt is a sickle- District 11, agriculture- I don't want her to get close enough to me to use it. Compared to the other tributes I've seen recently she looks relatively unscathed. I wonder how she got away from the mutts.

I get to my feet, trident and net ready to go. Looks like I'll have to add another trophy to the cabinet before I go. My arm barbs but like my shoulder it will have to wait. I have barely caught my breath but Sickle- ironically I think that's actually her name- isn't going to play nicely.

As she gets closer she fires another arrow but I'm ready for it and I move out of the way. As she gets within range she pulls the sickle from her belt and holds it in from of her like a sword. I throw my net forward, hoping to catch it and take it from her but with one swish of the sickle she cuts right through it. I let it drop to the floor.

In a smooth motion she moves towards me and makes a swipe at me but I block her and slip in a jab under her arm but she blocks that. For a while we are caught in a stalemate as we both push forward and block the other seamlessly. Somehow I just know what she is going to do next but I must be equally as readable for she matches me exactly. Except my trident has the extra reach and she is forced to compensate.

Each time she misses I see her face grow a little redder, her movement a little more frenzied. She is desperate to win and she is allowing her desperation to get the better of her. She steps a little too far and lunges off balance. I take the opportunity to knock her legs out completely from under her. She falls to the ground. She is about to get up when I step down hard on the arm which holds the sickle, pressing her to the floor. The sickle falls from her hand and I use my other foot to kick it away.

She doesn't try to move now, doesn't try to get away. I can see it in her eyes; she knows she has lost. "Do it," she tells me. "Do it quick."

So I make it quick- a neat blow to the stomach. No point staying here longer than I need to, anyway.

I am still stood over her when I hear the final cannon. It's over.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N- So that's Finnick's games over. What were your game highlights? And which bits belong on the blooper reel? Thank you for reading this far- any feedback is greatly appreciated. <strong>


	19. Chapter 19

"Ladies and Gentleman, I am pleased to present the victor of the Sixty-fifth Hunger Games, Finnick Odair of District 4!"

The sound of the cheering crowds plays over the speakers and reverberates around the walls. I'm not entirely sure what it means. Are they just happy that I survived or are they celebrating my triumph over the others?

The hovercraft descends and I take hold of the ladder in one hand, keeping my trident in the other. There is no way I'm leaving without it. I am taken up out of the arena and the moment the doors of the hovercraft closes a tangle of arms reach for me from every direction. There are so many of them, so many masked faces that I struggle to piece together what is happening. Someone takes hold of my trident and it is plucked out of my hands- I don't see where they take it.

"What are you doing?" Someone forces my arms down by my side, restraining me as if they expect me to turn on all of them. I look towards the person retraining me. "You don't have to do that," I tell him. "What do you think I'm going to do? Kill you?"

A few of them exchange glances. No one speaks to me. I desperately want them to say something- to acknowledge me as another human being- but they don't. They remove my clothes and a sea of masked faces scrutinise me as if I am some sort of oddity in a zoo. They expect me to be mad, to be some sort of broken-down monster. But I'm fine. I know I am.

I am pushed down into a chair and a masked figure inspects the arrow wound on my arm. The bandages are taken off my ribs and they too are prodded and analysed. Someone moves my shoulder around, assessing its movement.

"What's happening?" I ask them. "Do I get to go home now?"

A door opens and a woman walks in. Unlike everyone else she isn't masked but still wears the same trademark white coat. She smiles at me with a look of feigned sympathy and kneels down at my side, placing a hand on my knee. "Hi Finnick, I'm Dr Nonus I just want to ask you a few questions while the team are checking you over."

"Have I done something wrong?"

"Of course not. We just want to make sure you're all right. "

All right? What does that even mean, anyway? I don't pay much attention to her; I am too preoccupied with watching the hands as they wash the arrow wound and spread some sort of ointment around the edge of it.

"Finnick, could you tell me a bit about yourself?"

I frown; it seems an odd sort of question for her to ask. "Er… well, I'm fourteen. I live in District 4 with my parents. My dad's a fisherman he-"

"Can you tell me about the games?"

"What is this? A medical examination or a first date?" I wince as a masked figure pulls the arrow from my wound but Dr Nonus is persistent.

"Seriously now. What was it like in the arena?"

Blood flows quickly from the wound but I hardly feel a thing. It's the ointment, I think, it has numbed it. I watch as they sew it up, the tiny stitches looping round and round.

"Finnick?"

"What?"

"What was the arena like?" She repeats.

"Pretty rubbish, I'm sorry to say it wasn't really the holiday I was hoping for."

She fixes her eyes on mine as if trying to work something out. That's when it hits me- she is trying to work out if I'm insane, trying to make sure they don't let a deranged person stand in front of the cameras. Of course there is nothing for her to see. She can't see an empty hole.

"Are you looking forward to going home?" She asks me, finally getting to her feet. Whatever it is she thought she'd see she obviously didn't find.

"I try to just take it a moment at a time." I reply. "Right now my hopes only go as far as putting some clothes on."

"Well, good luck with that," she tells me. She nods to one of the masked team and leaves. I have passed her test.

When we reach the Training Centre they continue to treat my wounds and start polishing up my appearance (because heaven forbid that I should ever been seen looking anything less than my best- even in a hospital bed). They tell me I will be flawless by the end of it- that I will be polished up to perfection- not a blemish on me. I let them do it- let them fuss and exclaim and continue with their ridiculous carry-on. Some congratulate me enthusiastically on my win. They tell me the victors are usually sedated when they get to see them, that it is an honour to have a conscious victor for change. I guess I really did pass the test.

Still, I get the impression that they are monitoring me closely. They exchange looks, worried glances, their hands work unsteadily but they are always watching, waiting for me to break.

They try to distract me by telling me what they thought of the games. "I almost died when you fell into the mud pit!" No, I think, that pleasure was all mine.

"And when you got that trident- I've never seen such an expensive gift. I just couldn't believe it!"

"I wouldn't be surprised if headlamps become all the rage! I've already ordered a blue neon headdress in honour the games!"

It is amazing that I have any skin left by the time they are done with me. I wonder when I am to be reunited with Mags and Hollis- even old fish-faced Augustus would be better than this team of squawking birds. I just want to feel normal again.

I am led back to my room and an Avox brings in a meal for me, setting it down carefully on the long table. He eyes me with suspicion. Even he expects me to be unhinged, feral, rabid- but I'm not, somehow I haven't been granted that luxury. I have to sit here fully awake, fully aware of everything. He leaves hurriedly and I am left to eat alone.

I'm in the same space that I once shared with Hollis and Mags and Jeannie but now there is only me. I don't know quite what I imagined to happen in the days following the games but I never thought of the victors sitting alone, being fed tiny portions of bland food.

One of the windows has been opened slightly allowing the ruckus from the street outside to travel up to me. Someone at least is celebrating my victory. Shame no one thought to invite me.

I am only about halfway through my meal when I hear shouting outside my door. "You can't just leave the poor boy alone! At least let me see him!"

I get to my feet and run to the door because that is the one voice in the whole of the Capitol that I actually want to hear.

"Mags!"

The doors swing open and I almost knock her over as I throw myself into her arms. "Well done, kiddo," she says.

She feels so small and frail and when I back away I can see how exhausted she is. "I hope you haven't been losing any sleep over me," I say.

She shrugs, "Someone had to keep an eye on you."

"You should go back to your room now," the attendant says, trying to pull Mags away from me. "Mr Odair needs his rest."

"Pffst!" Mags huffs, "I think what the boy needs is some normalcy."

She brushes past the attendant and takes me back to the dining room. She sits down next to me at the table and an Avox brings her some hot chocolate. It is comfortable- not quite normal- but comfortable. I try to force some more food down.

"There will be a few days before the ceremony."

"Why wait? I'm ready now." I can tell she doesn't quite believe me. No one quite believes me when I say I'm fine.

"Maybe you are but someone, somewhere, is editing furiously to create the perfect story of how Finnick Odair became a victor."

"So I'm meant to just wait around here?"

"You might be pleased to have a bit of time off tomorrow."

"I'd rather be busy."

Again she looks at me with that strange look- the same look that everyone else keeps giving me. It is as if they want me to say something but I don't know what, exactly. What is there for me to say?

"Where's Hollis?"

"He thought he'd get an early night- he hasn't slept much."

"Oh. Well it's not like he really likes me, anyway."

Mags finishes the last of her hot chocolate and gets to her feet, patting me warmly on my good shoulder. "You should get some sleep too."

I don't see it- I just don't understand why they are so concerned. I won. I'm the victor. I survived. I did what they wanted me to do. Surely they should be pleased?

The days pass quietly and without much change- Mags is a constant at my side. We don't talk about the games- not really. Occasionally she offers me some advice about the ceremony that is to come. She reminds me that I will have to watch all the highlights in front of everyone so I had better find a way to prepare myself.

I think more preparation goes into the way I dress than anything else. Marius seems to have forgotten his earlier comment before the games and dresses me in a suit. He reminds me that I am lucky to have a stylist like him- that a lesser artist would never be able to have brought out the potential he always saw in me. I am unsure about what impact his influence has actually made but I let him jump excitedly around me and tell me I look fabulous, anyway.

Onstage sat on my throne next to Caesar is when I get my first glimpse of Hollis. Sat next to Mags he looks strained and I can tell that someone has done a very good job trying to piece him together. The dark circles under his eyes, the dishevelled way his hair falls across his face, the way his leg constantly jitters, the look of hopelessness. Is this what they expect me to be like?

I smile for Caesar and the crowd- wave, blow kisses, bow – they lap it up. One look and I can send the whole lot of them into frenzy. Caesar struggles to quieten them enough to get on with the show.

This year the story is a coming of age one. At first they spend time showing how young I am- they show my mistakes, how naïve I seem– we witness how I can't kill that girl on the first day in the arena, burning my hand on the ice block, how I jumped into the freezing lake, the horror on my face as Rook kills the girl in the tunnel. This is compared to the others- Rook's bloodlust, Agrippa's deceptive murder of his district partner, Harrow and Sickle's grim acceptance of life in the arena, the small girl from 10 wielding the axe. Alongside everyone else I begin to seem a little pathetic.

"But then," the commentary tells us, "This boy became a man." Jeannie's death flashes across the screen- the menacing look on my face as I drive the spear into her stomach, me shouting for her to die. It was the bats, they made me do it. It means nothing.

But then come the other deaths- Nova, Agrippa, the girl from 12, Sickle…

It's not me, at least not any part of me that I can recognise. The boy on screen seems to relish killing them, delight in thier suffering with his stupid smirk and arrogance. It is hard to keep the smile on my face for the crowd so I get to my feet and bow like a showman. They all for cheer me and I know what it means this time. I put on quite the show.

No wonder they keep looking at me like that.


	20. Chapter 20

A hundred cameras flash in my face, blinding me. People wrap their arms around me or drape my arm over their shoulders, telling me to smile. Mindlessly I obey. I am whisked from person to person in a baffling parade of congratulatory comments. Some tell me they are my sponsors- that they gave me food- medicine- that they supported me from the start because they just knew I could win.

Questions are fired at me at a relentless pace and I have no means of answering them so I speechlessly smile and hug and pose, hoping that it will be enough for these vultures. I don't recognise a single face. Mags and Hollis have vanished. No one warned me about this. I wish I had been a little more prepared.

"You want to get out of here?" A woman whispers in my ear. I turn to look at her. She wears a long blue dress and a silvery wig .Her skin has a strange pale blue luminous quality that catches the lights- must be some Capitol fashion I can't hope to understand. "Well?" she says.

"Depends where you plan on taking me," I say. I do want to get away from the crowds- find a quiet place just to catch my breath a moment, surely dealing with this one woman is going to be easier than facing the whole lot of them? She takes hold of my hand and begins to lead me away. I have no choice but to follow. People try to approach me but she directs them away. Whoever she is she must be important as they leave without questioning it.

She opens up a pair of sliding doors and ushers me inside. The walls are covered with books. It must be President Snow's personal library. One glance at the bookcase and I see our president must have a love for antiquity. Some of the books look ancient- probably long lost and long forgotten copies that existed before the Dark Days. A few titles catch my eye as I walk past them- _The Republic by Plato, Hamlet by William Shakespeare, A Brave New World by Aldous Huxley, The Prince by Machiavelli, Leviathan by Hobbes_- hundreds of tattered copies of books I have never heard of. I don't think I have ever seen such a collection before. Most of the copies were probably burnt a long time ago. It's no wonder they had to create the games- they took away most of the other ways people have to amuse themselves. The only books in District 4 are the school text books and they only contain the information that the Capitol wants them to contain. Books are dangerous. They are a way of spreading ideas.

"Finnick?" I turn to the woman in blue, "Perhaps I should introduce myself. My name is Hydra. I was the one who bought you your trident."

"Oh… well, thank you."

She approaches me and grabs hold of my lapel. I watch as she fixes something to it when she moves away I see it is my token.

"They returned it to me after the games but I think it will be better if it stays with you." She runs her hand across my shoulder.

"Yes. I've grown quite attached to my little sea monster" I don't know what I am supposed to say. I am beginning to wish that I had stayed with everyone else in the main hall. There is something about Hydra that unnerves me. I only realise I have been slowly backing away from her when my back collides with the bookcase. She lets out a tinkling laugh.

"Don't tell me you're afraid."

"I don't really know what I am," I tell her. It's probably the most honest thing I have said all night.

"You're not really what I expected."

"Sorry to disappoint you."

"It's a good thing." I begin to wonder what her opinion on me actually is. She moves closer to me agian and tilts the brooch slightly towards the light. "I hope when you look at this you remember me."

"Is that why you sponsored me- so I might remember you?"

"A girl can dream," she tells me and laughs again. "Hopefully I'll be seeing a lot more of you."

She is standing a little too close for comfort, her hands resting on my chest. What does she mean about seeing more of me? One of her hands moves up to my cheek, caressing it. I try to move away but I am still pressed up against the bookcase. Trapped.

"Because you bought me my trident?" I push her hand away. Is that what it is? Because she now thinks I'm her property? It is true that I wouldn't be here without her help. I guess I do owe her something but what could a poor boy from District 4 have that she could possibly want?

"I thought you would be grateful."

"I am, just…"

"Just what?"

"I think I had better go back to the banquet- it's in my honour, after all." I slide along the bookcase and free myself from her trap, heading for the door.

She laughs again. Somehow I am being very amusing today.

"I work for the president," she tells me suddenly. I don't know if this is meant to change my mind about staying or if she is just stating facts. It seems an odd thing for her to say.

"I work for no one." I try to leave but she move in front of the door, holding it shut as her eyes look me up and down.

"You're so young."

"Not that young," I tell her.

She takes one of my hands in hers and turns it over so she can look at my palm. She seems to have a strange fascination with it. I suddenly worry that there is some blood left on them that all that polish couldn't clean off. Something that might give me away for the murderer I am. I try to pull back but she lifts my hand and kisses it.

"You're right, you should go back."

Finally she moves aside and I am able to get away. As soon as I clear the door I begin to run. I don't really know why but I have to put as much space between myself and Hydra as is possible. Being around her makes me feel dirty.

I don't know the way back to the party and nor do I want to find it. When I open one of the many doors in President Snow's mansion and find a small cupboard full of coats I shut myself inside. Alone at last. I fall to the floor and bury my head in my hands. This would be the perfect place for me to break down, completely alone, safe, hidden- but still I can't. A coat tie hangs down next to me so I grab it and begin making knots, twisting the fabric, making sure it holds itself together then I pull it so it all unravels. Some of the kinks and creases I've made in it still remain but it will be all right-it is useable. I guess that's what I need someone to do for me- pull me so I unravel- just to show me that I am still human. That I'm still me.

The cupboard door swings open.

"Ah, Mr Odair, I have been looking for you. How are you enjoying the banquet?" President Snow smiles down at me.

I scramble to my feet, hitting my head on the coats. "I was just…" I awkwardly step out from the cupboard.

"You are not the first victor to hide in my cloak room. Why don't we find a more suitable place for us to talk?"

Reluctantly I follow him down the long hallway, the strong smell of roses lingers in the air after him. I follow the scent into yet another room- a small sitting room with two chairs sat in front of a roaring fire. Perhaps it is a waiting room of some sort. He sits on the chair over on the far side of the room and gestures for me to sit on the other, so I do.

"May I offer you my congratulations on your recent victory? I had hoped you would do well. The people here have taken quite a liking to you."

Speech seems impossible. So I just nod.

"What do you think of the Capitol?" he asks. This must be some sort of loaded question, he is leading me somewhere but I don't know where.

My mind races for a while but somehow I find the words to answer, "It's fine," I tell him, "But it is no District 4."

"It's a shame you think that way because I was rather hoping you would be spending a lot more time here."

"What do you mean?"

He narrows his snake-like eyes, as if weighing me up. "You're young but you are very popular, I can see how it would be advantageous to have a person such as you nearby. You will, of course, be joining us again at the end of your victory tour but I have another request."

"What is it?"

"I would be interested to see your mentoring skills. I know District 4 has a choice of victors to come to the games but next year I want it to be you. It would be a shame for you to stay away from the Capitol when you have made such a big impression, don't you think?"

"I guess."

"I hope that you and the Capitol might develop something of a _special relationship. _It is, after all, only because of them that you are still here." He sits forward in his chair, "Do you think that is something you could do? Give them a bit of time so you can begin repaying your debt. No one likes to be out of pocket, after all."

There is something more to this. Something I don't quite understand yet. Does this happen to all victors? No, not all of them become mentors after the games- some seem to almost disappear back to their district. But, for some reason, the president wants to keep me coming back to the Capitol. I suppose it could be worse and I don't want to cause problems for either myself or my family by refusing so it is probably best just to agree and worries about the repercussions later.

"I'll be a mentor."

"Excellent." President Snow gets to his feet. "I'll be seeing you again soon, Mr Odair, now; I think it would be best if you return to the banquet- your fans are waiting."

The rest of the evening passes without event. I keep up my act of an arrogant and flirty victor. I let their hands wander in places they shouldn't. I laugh. I smile. I tell jokes. I am everything they want me to be. It is relief when Augustus, Hollis and Mags tell me I have to leave.

My last day in the Capitol is spent preparing for my interview- my final duty before they let me go home. I just have to get through this then I'm done. Just a few more hours of this charade then it's all over. Until next year…

"Now, remember to…"

"Be charming, flirty, funny- I know what I have to do, Mags."

"I was going to say that you should try and enjoy it."

Fat chance, I think. I'm incapable of enjoying anything.

I am relieved to discover that there is no live audience this time. The interview takes place in a small sitting room decorated with flowers. Only a couple of cameras are there to film it. Mags positions herself behind one of them and gives me an encouraging smile.

Flickerman greets me as if we are old friends and takes his seat opposite me. Someone counts down the seconds and then that's it- we're being broadcast live.

"Now Finnick, are you going to behave?" Caesar asks teasingly- referring back to my last interview when I all but took his job.

"I'll try," I tell him. "But I can't make any promises."

"I'll be keeping an eyes on you." comically he points to one of his eyes and then back at me. "So how does it feel to be the youngest victor to ever win the Hunger Games?"

"Am I the youngest?"

"By at least a month."

"Then I guess that's quite a badge of honour. Maybe I should have a t-shirt printed. 'Finnick Odair, youngest victor ever'" I gesture across my chest. "Then I could have 'by at least a month' written on the back."

Caesar keeps up the banter. Together we make jokes. He teases me about when I jumped into the freezing water saying I was drawn to it like a moth to the flame. It is surprisingly easy to talk to him. I almost forget that we are being broadcast at all. I try to deflect the questions about the games, instead twisting them into something shallow and meaningless. I don't want anyone to see how unfeeling I am.

"What did you think of the arena?"

"Hard to say, really, I didn't get a good look at it."

Caesar chuckles, "No, none of really got a good look at it, did we? What about that moment when you reached the cornucopia and there were no weapons?"

"I guess I was surprised- I mean, it's unusual for the games. I knew there wasn't going to be a trident- I hadn't seen one in the games before but I just never thought there would be no weapons at all. I wasn't prepared for that and I don't think the others were either."

"So how did you feel when you finally had your trident?"

"It's hard to explain, really, but as soon as I had it I knew I could win. I knew it was all over for the other tributes. I have used a trident my whole life to help my dad on the boats, I couldn't have been handed a better weapon."

"Quite the gift, eh? Someone obviously really wanted you to win. You had quite the following throughout the games. 90% of all the sponsor's gifts presented to tributes were given to you. Would you like to say anything about that?"

"Just thank you, really, I couldn't have done it without all the support I was given. I was very lucky to have people take an interest in me."

I think of Hydra and of President Snow and I get the feeling that maybe it is not that lucky, after all. As Snow said, somehow I am going to be expected to repay my debts. I can't imagine that anyone from the Capitol would give anything away without some sort of hidden agenda.

I am pleased when the interview winds to a close and I can go back to my room. I am given an hour to collect my things and say my goodbyes then I am whisked away to begin the long journey back home.


	21. Chapter 21

I look across at Hollis. He hasn't spoken to me once since I left the arena. He hasn't spoken much to anyone. He holds a whiskey in one hand but he doesn't drink from it, just lets the amber liquid move to the rhythm of the train. District 4 may have a victor this year but it occurs to me that there are still only two people returning on this train. I don't exactly know who Jeannie was to him but when she died he died with her.

I don't know what to say to him. I don't think I know a way of bringing him back so, rather than face it, I go to my compartment. Soon I am going to see my family again, my friends- all the people who ever knew me. I wonder if they saw what I did when they watched the games. Will they even recognise me?

I pull off the clothes the Capitol dressed me in and climb into the shower trying to make it all wash away. I imagine the mask slowly slipping- no more flirting, no more posing, just Finnick- a simple fisherman's son- a boy from District 4. That's who I'm supposed to be.

As I slowly cleanse away all traces of the Capitol I wait to feel like myself again. Maybe once it is all gone I will be able to grieve. Be able to let it all go. God, I hope so.

I stand soaking in the shower for a long time, waiting to feel it- urging whatever it was that allowed me to feel these things to come back. Mags calls to me, telling me it is time to eat but I'm still waiting, still scrubbing at my skin, waiting to feel it. I repeat my ritual, methodically cleaning each part of myself. I can still smell the perfume of the Capitol on me, still sense the blood on my skin but I don't feel the disgust or the sadness I expect. Will I ever feel like myself again?

Someone knocks on my door.

"Finnick?" Mags again. "Are you all right?"

"I'm in the shower." I call to her.

"Yes, dear, I know that. You've been showering for three hours."

Three hours? I hear the squeak of the door as it opens and through the steam of the shower I see Mags. She is carrying a bundle of clothes. Without looking at me she goes and sits on the toilet lid, thoughtfully running the shirt through her fingers.

"I thought I would bring you something to change into."

I rub soap across my back, reaching as far as I can over my shoulder. There is just one part that I can't reach…

"Come on," she says, "You can't stay in there forever."

She reaches in to the shower cubicle and switches off the water, passing me a towel with her other hand. She still doesn't look at me but I don't feel awkward about her being here. After the events in the Capitol with the prep team and the stylists and the arena it is hard to feel embarrassed. I have been on display for so long.

I begin to dry myself and she passes me clothes, item by item until I am once again fully dressed but I'm still not myself. It is just another costume.

"What's it like- coming home?"

Mags softly sighs, "I like to think of it like waking up from a strange dream. Everything feels more real back home. You'll see, you'll find your feet again."

"I'm-"

"Yes, I know, you're fine." She reaches towards the top of my shirt and uncurls the collar which must have been tucked under. "Better make sure you at least look the part."

"What if I don't want to? What if I just want to look like myself? I don't want to meet my family as a victor I just want them to see me as I was- as I am."

"They'll see it, don't you worry." She takes the towel and wraps it around my head, rubbing my hair dry so it no longer drips water onto my clean shirt.

"But what if they don't? Mags I- I don't think I'm the same person I used to be." Somehow in Mags calm company the truth tumbles from my mouth. Really I want her to tell me things are all right, that I am still the same person I was before the games, that things get better with time. But she doesn't but she understands and that's something.

"You're afraid they'll treat you differently?"

"I couldn't stand it if they did."

"Even if they do you will come to accept each other. Time might not heal but it accommodates."

She leads me back to the dining car where Hollis is still propped up in a chair. He doesn't acknowledge our return. I wonder if Mags tried picking him up as well, tried to sort him out and piece him back together as she has tried to do with me. If she did then it is clear she didn't succeed.

The remainder of our journey is spent in near silence. My hands find a piece of rope which I knot mindlessly. Mags sits reading. Hollis just sits.

Before I step off the train onto the platform Mags takes a moment to straighten me out again. She might not be able to fix me but she can at least make sure I look as though I am together. I have to put on a good show.

"You ready, kiddo?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

As I step out into the bright sunlight I shield my eyes, struggling to see my first glimpse of my home. A crowd has gathered to welcome us, I can hear their cheers. Yet, somehow, I get the impression that these cheers are not quite as sincere as they might be. It is not like in the Capitol when people call out my name, vying for my attention. There is an icy chill in the air.

Cameras flash in my face.

At the end of the platform I see my parents stood arm in arm. My mother is crying, daubing her eyes with the corner of her handkerchief, while my father scolds her for being silly. Reporters stand by waiting to bombard us with questions the moment they get the chance.

As soon as I am close enough my parents wrap their arms around me and the three of us embrace. My mother is actually shaking when she looks up at me, tears still steaming from her eyes.

"How do you feel about your son's return?" One of the reporters asks her, holding a microphone in her face, but my father steps forward and answers instead.

"We are very proud," he says, "I had hoped he would do it and now… well now he has."

"Is it true that you were the one who taught him to use a trident?" another asks.

"That's right. He was a bit of a hopeless case to begin with, though. He was always so loud that he would scare all the fish away. I remember telling him- he must have been about seven at this stage- I told him that he had better stick to making nets because a family would starve waiting for him to catch a fish. And now look at him…"

He doesn't mention how I can now use a trident to kill not just fish but people as well but I can see by the way his smile fades that he's thinking of it. Certainly he is glad I am home and he always knew that in order to do that I would have to eliminate my opponents but I suspect, like me, he was not entirely sure what that actually meant.

The three of us walk along the platform together where I catch sight of Eoghan and his family. "Hey Finnick!" Eoghan calls. "I was wondering when you were going to get back!"

Eoghan laps it up as reporters descend upon him, asking him all about me- whether he is jealous that I got to compete in the games, what he thought of the way I performed, did he always know that I could win? His little sister stands just behind him, unlike everyone else she is not even pretending to cheer, just silently watching me, as if trying to figure something out. I turn quickly from her- I can't stand knowing that she can look through me that easily.

I have almost reached the end of the platform when someone behind me begins to shout. "Murderer!"

I turn around. A small bedraggled man rushes towards me. He looks half mad; his hair stuck up at odd angles, dressed in only a soiled dressing gown, unshaven, pointing right at me.

"Murderer!" he repeats, "You should rot in prison!"

There is murmuring from the crowd and two peacekeepers march forward and grab hold of him- one on either side- but he is determined and forces himself free. "You killed my daughter! We all saw it. You won't be allowed to get away with this." He turns towards the crowd, pleading for them to join his cause. "We shouldn't be cheering him, celebrating his victory- he deserves to be hanged!" He is almost upon me before the peacekeepers grab hold of him again.

Mr O'Brien screams and curses as they take him away. All I can do is watch in horror, the blood draining from my face. The crowd too watch in silence. The same icy chill that met me off the train still lingers in the air. None of them say that they agree with Mr O'Brien but I can see they are thinking it.

"You were meant to help her!" Mr O'Brien calls as he disappears from sight. "You should have been a team!"

Even when he is gone from my sight I can still hear his rants. Hollis, who was walking just behind me and my parents, begins to follow Mr O'Brien and the peacekeepers.

"Where are you going?" Mags asks.

"Someone should talk to him," is all Hollis says. He probably agrees. I am almost surprised that he didn't join in and call me a murderer himself.

I assume that the broadcast was interrupted because someone calling the new victor a murderer certainly doesn't fit in with the celebratory image they, no doubt, want to convey. The cameras still follow us, though.

I am led through the town and up the path to the Victor's Village. As we pass the lake I can't help but notice the flowers that are growing there. Just like the one Jeannie received in the arena.

There are twelve houses in the Victor's Village all of them positioned around the magnificent lake with balconies looking over the sea at the rear. As a child on the boats I would always look up at the houses and wonder what it would be like to live there- they seemed so big that I always imagined getting lost in them- somehow falling into another world. A world without work or hunger or misery. It made a great fairytale.

I am directed towards the middle of the row. "That's mine on the left," Mags whispers pointing to the house to the left of the centre. "Hollis is two doors down." She slowly points down the line, "Sorley, Ardal, Paddy. That one used to belong to Caitria."

They take us to the house next door to Mags- a bronze number seven is hanging on the smart green front door.

"House number seven for our seventh victor," Mayor Sullivan says. I hadn't even noticed he was here but he walks up to the front door and gestures to me to come forward. "Welcome home!" he beams.

_Yeah_, I think bitterly, _welcome home. _


	22. Chapter 22

The glow from the candles lights every face on the beach and in the distance, tossed upon a subdued wave, the boat throws down its anchor. I don't stand with the rest of them because I know I'm not wanted.

I've only been back two days but once the cameras were gone there was no need for them to pretend to be impressed by me. I broke one of the unspoken rules of the games when I killed Jeannie. It didn't matter that the bats forced my hand; they still see it as me winning by dishonourable means. I heard whispers that I did it in cold blood- that I didn't even cry when I found out what I had done. As my father pointed out, it is easy for them to judge my actions when they have not faced the same brutal circumstances themselves. I am no longer a poor child who got reaped for the games; I am a victor who has profited from them- from her death.

No one thought much of Jeannie when she was alive, if anything she was the subject or ridicule but now she is dead she joins the martyrs of District 4 and suddenly everyone adores her. I don't think there is a single person left in their house tonight. All of them want to say their final farewell, even if they never met her in the first place, while I crouch in the darkness, just as I've been forced to do ever since my games began.

I stand in the reeds a while and watch them as they cry and sing her to rest. They lament how cruel fate is to take her from us. They ask the sea to protect her in death- to carry her on to new shores. In the distance I see the hunched figure of her father bending down to pick up a handful of sand to throw onto her body. He had to go out there alone with only a crew to drive the boat. There is no one left for him now. It's a shame he hates me. I would have liked to have spoken to him; one broken man to another. Maybe he could have helped me make sense of a few things.

I quickly scan the beach looking for Hollis. I see Mags stood with the other victors but Hollis isn't with them. I turn back towards the Victor's Village and sure enough there is a single light shining from his house.

There is no point me staying here in the reeds, hiding from everyone. So as they begin another orison I turn and head back home. I'll light my own candle for Jeannie, far away from their filthy looks. I wouldn't want to impose.

I wonder what Jeannie would have thought about it all. She wouldn't be happy about her father, certainly, but would she have sent me away as well? Somehow I don't think so. I didn't know her for long but in the time I did we shared a unique experience- the kind of experience that binds people together. No wonder the victors always seem so close; a tight-knit little community that, for the most part, seems to keep to itself.

I go to open my front door but the light from Hollis' house niggles at me. Someone ought to check on him.

I find that his door is unlocked so I walk right in. "Hollis!"

His house is easy to navigate as it is exactly the same as my own. The light is coming from his kitchen so that's where I head first.

"Hollis?"

He sits at his kitchen table, a half mangled bunch of flowers in his hands. A soft paraffin lamp set before him. He lifts the flowers to his nose and takes in a deep breath, drawing in the soft scent. It wafts over me as well and I'm immediately taken back to the arena, Jeannie's sobs cutting through the darkness, sending shivers down my spine.

"They were her favourite," he says.

"Why aren't you down on the beach?"

"Why aren't you?"

I shrug, leaning sideways onto the doorframe. "It's not customary for the murderer to attend the funeral."

Hollis snorts, "You give yourself far too much credit. The Capitol murdered her. The games murdered her. You were just a means to an end."

"Still, I'm sorry."

"Or you would be, if you still had enough sense left to feel it."

"Yeah." I am really that easy to read?

His fingers release the flowers and the petals fall across the table. He rubs at his eyes, odd shadows falling across his face. The back door bangs on its hinges and the evening air whisks through the kitchen. The guttering flame casts a deeper gloom. I go across to the table and take some of the petals in my hands, letting them drop through my fingers. They are half dead, blackened around the edges. Jeannie's flowers. It suddenly occurs to me that they should go with her, that they ought to have been cast into the water with her body. In her darkest hours these small blue flowers gave her hope, she'll certainly need them now. but I can't take them down to the beach; the funeral will be practically over.

The back door bangs again. I gather all the petals into my hands and carry them towards the back door. Let the wind take them to her. The wind won't be so cruel as to toss them in some idle place. I pull open the door and am about to step outside when Hollis stops me.

"Don't go out there. Not tonight." He pulls me back into the room. The petals fall to the floor, the wind carrying them all over the room. Hollis slams the door shut, securing the lock.

"I wanted to send the flowers out to her."

Hollis shakes his head. "Not out there. They'll be ghosts walking the cliffs tonight." He tugs on the curtains, pulling them across the windows, blocking out any sign of the outside world. kneeling down at the grate he begins to light a fire.

"Are ghosts real?"

"I know they are. I see them." He says without turning to look at me. He frantically strikes the matches, dropping three of them onto the tiles when they fail to light.

"From the arena?"

He strikes another match and, just like the others, it fizzles out. "Bother!"

"Here, let me." I kneel down next to him and take the matches from his hands. I strike the first match and the kindling lights easily. Hollis adds a few more logs to the fire then the pair of us move away and sit at the table, looking anywhere but at each other.

"Do you want a drink?" he asks me, suddenly getting to his feet. He takes a bottle from off the side and pours out two glasses, sliding one across the table to me. I take it in my hand and gently swirl the liquid, watching how the light of the fire catches it. Its heady smell burns my nostrils. It is so warm I know I could catch fire from drinking the stuff and I don't want to burn tonight. I push my glass away. I will find a better way to fill my nothingness.

"It's probably over by now," I say, thinking of the crowds of people heading away from the beach. Of Jeannie's father returning home to his empty house to face loneliness and starvation. It isn't right. Someone ought to do something about it. Perhaps there is some way I can get food to him, make sure he is alright. He never would accept it from me, of course, but maybe someone else to could give it to him on my behalf.

"You ought to go home," Hollis tells me, "Your parents will be expecting you."

"I just... What is going to happen to Jeannie's father?"

"He'll die if he has any sense," Hollis says coldly.

"But I thought- But what about you… aren't you going to do anything to help him?"

"I hardly even know him."

"But you knew Jeannie. You..." I was going to say that he loved her but for some reason it catches on my tongue. "What happened- between you and Jeannie?"

Hollis rubs the back of his neck awkwardly and takes another sip of his drink. The wind rattles the window as if the ghosts of the past are struggling to get inside. He turns nervously towards the back door. "It wasn't love, if that's what you're thinking. I didn't love her, but I felt responsible for her, you know?"

"Why?"

"Did she tell you about her father's printing press?"

I nod. He takes another sip from his drink and allows it to gently loosen his tongue.

"They had no way of making money after that. I used to see her trying to sell sea glass down in the square. Each day she wasted away a little more but she was still always there with her basket trying to sell whatever she had found on the beach. I guess I felt sorry for her but I didn't feel I could do anything- someone else must be looking out for her, I thought, someone else must care what happens to this girl. Well obviously they didn't because a week later she collapsed in the square, shards of glass scattered all around her. So I brought her back here, told everyone I was going to fix her up, you know, because I'm a surgeon." Hollis gives a weary sigh at this statement.

"Anyway, she wakes up and I give her a decent meal, something to drink. The silly girl all but tried to give me the clothes off her back as a way to repay me so I told her that if she really wanted to reimburse me, although she didn't have to, she could come and clean for me. So she did. Every day she would come and tidy whatever items I left for her- I never left her much- then she would bring in a bunch of flowers from down by the lake and I would give her something to eat. It took a while but soon she started looking less like a bag of bones and more like a woman.

"We got to talking. I told her about my father's death, how I had been left the surgery. How I couldn't stand having to piece broken people back together all the time but I had to because that's what I was expected to do. I think she pitied me a bit. Pitied by a starving girl. I had certainly hit a new low. Anyway, things grew between us- somehow we propped each other up. I didn't mean for things to go where they did but I was a mess and she … understood."

It is easy to picture the broken man and the starving girl, easy to see what it must have been like. No drink needed to fill the void just a few kind words. But then I think about the times I saw the pair of them together during the games and something doesn't quite add up. I had known that there was something there, some history that they shared but they were far from close. In fact it is hard to really imagine the pair of them as the man and girl from Hollis' story. They are almost completely unrecognisable.

"Then what happened?"

He lets the question sit a moment. One of the petals drifts softly across the floor towards his feet. He bends to pick it up, turning it over in his hands.

"I got her pregnant." His eyes meet mine, trying to gage my reaction but nothing can show in my face because he just continues, slowly getting lost in what he is saying. "She was really pleased about it- started making all these plans and I tried to be happy but no matter what I did that bloody reaping ball kept appearing in my mind and I knew I couldn't face it. I couldn't afford to care about someone like that. We argued something dreadful- she wouldn't talk to me for months. I avoided her. I avoided everyone. I didn't see her until the night of the birth. The baby was in distress. She had no choice but to come to me and I had no choice but to help her.

"When the baby was born it didn't cry- it was a strange little blue thing. I thought it was dead and I was happy. Can you imagine that? Happy. I didn't want her to see him- not like that- she was still out of it anyway from the operation. So I took him outside and dug a hole. I was about halfway through when the little thing suddenly came to life. Maybe it was the cold or, maybe it had just been wishful thinking on my part but he wasn't dead. I wasn't thinking right at the time, I can't have been- I just knew I couldn't stand for this little person to be alive, I couldn't stand to love him because everyone I had ever loved had died."

The patter of rain taps across the roof. Hollis shakes his head, swallowing what is left of his drink. "I told her he was a stillborn and she believed me. She never could see me for what I really am. Three months later and it is her name that is drawn out of the reaping ball."

Hollis gets to his feet and looks across at me with the expression of a man who has just awoken from a strange dream. "So now you know." He says. "I left District 4 this year hoping for a break, instead I get this." He gestures towards the fallen petals, the mostly empty bottle of alcohol. "I wanted to make sure I had nothing left to live for, and now I don't."

"There's always something," I say quietly. "You'll find something."

"No. They just take it from you. You'll see. One way or another they'll take it." He spits bitterly, suddenly furious.

"This isn't about me," I say. "This is your story. I'm not going to let it happen to me. I would never do that."

"Oh? You wouldn't?" he jabs his finger at my chest. "I forgot I was in the presence of the Capitol's golden boy. Mr Oh-so-moral , murderer of six, who'll kill anyone for a shiny new trident. You just wait until you care about someone and see what you do- if you even have the ability to care anymore!"

I can't stay here anymore. I can't stand to hear him jab at me. My feet react even before my mind does.

"Yes, go on, run! Piss off! Go run to your mother," he shouts, "Like that will save you!"

His words echo around my head as I fall through my front door and take the steps two at a time. I can't think. I just run blindly. It is only once I have slammed my bedroom door and banged my fists against it that I finally realise something- I am angry. Actually angry. Something has finally got through.


	23. Chapter 23

It is almost a month before I see Hollis again as I follow my father down to the docks. I am surprised to find him looking well, sat on the steps leading up to his porch, moving pieces across a chess set as he chats to Paddy. I like Paddy. He won the 55th Hunger Games. I have some vague memories of him laughing in an arena of ice. I've been told that he played games with the other tributes, tricking them into falling for the slippery perils of the arena while never having to raise a weapon. Watching it at four years old I remember thinking his weapon was laughter itself. He'd tell them a joke, he'd laugh at his own wit, and moments later the other tribute was dead and his laughter would stop. He had made winning look so easy.

Hollis nods at me as we pass, a smile somehow finding its way onto his face. I don't understand it. Maybe he has found a way to make peace with his past or maybe he doesn't want to show Paddy just how broken he is. I don't know. It seems unlikely that something like that can be fixed so fast. Maybe he has just grown so used to picking himself up over the years that he has it perfected to a fine art.

My sudden bloom of anger was short-lived; I awoke the next day just as I had every morning since the games. Empty.

It is a Saturday so the square is full of the usual traders and buyers. A group of boys from my year at school sit around the fountain, cooling their toes in its crystal waters. They glare at me as we walk by and whispers follow.

I had tried to go back to school, even though nobody expected me to, I guess I just wanted to feel normal again. I dressed in my old clothes, stuffed my feet into the scuffed shoes, even though they pinched. Then I rushed over to Eoghan's house.

His sister sat outside, her fingers in her ears as angry voices could be heard from within. The sound of shattering glass splintered the air from inside. "Hey, Annie," I whispered, "What's going on?"

She took her fingers from out her ears and slowly looked up at me. "They're arguing again. Grandfather doesn't want Eoghan going out on the boats."

Mr Cresta is an angry man- no one blamed him, though. He had lost his arm after he was pulled under a boat and it got caught in the motors. He had been left with Eoghan and Annie after their mother died about six years ago but parenting wasn't really his style. He left them alone most of the time while he worked loading fish into crates so they could be sent to the capitol. Anytime they did find themselves in the same room Eoghan and he would argue- about school, about Annie, about the house, and especially about the boats. Eoghan's father had sailed away one day and never bothered to come back, no one really knows what happened to him. Eoghan always said he thought he had found some far off place- away from Panem- somewhere so wonderful that he never wanted to come back. He would get this wistful look in his eyes. I could see why Mr Cresta never wanted Eoghan to so much as step foot on a boat.

"It'll be alright," I told Annie, "You know what they're like."

"I just wish they didn't have to be so noisy about it."

Eoghan yanked open the door and stepped out onto the porch, dragging two bags behind him. He looked flustered but tried to hide it when he noticed me. He threw one of the bags towards Annie then turned to me. "What you doing slumming it in this part of town?"

"Thought I would go in to school."

"Why?"

I shrugged, "Gives me something to do."

"Never thought I would see the likes of Finnick Odair volunteering for school."

"Didn't want you to have to face old Sloane alone."

I guess Eoghan wasn't the only one surprised to see me at school. As I stepped into the classroom more than one stunned glance turned my way. The glances soon turned into whispers and the whispers into taunts.

"Why'd you come back, Odair? Here to try and murder the rest of us?"

"Maybe he thought someone would be able to teach him some decency."

"You're not in the Capitol now, Odair, you can't just flutter you eyelashes and expect people to like you."

I sat down next to Eoghan and tried to ignore them. I was almost relieved when Mr Sloane stepped into the classroom. He sat at his desk and ran through the list of names…. Aran Murphy, Delma Neville, Orna Nolan, Roisa O'Connell, Devin Omeara, Brogan O'Shea…. No Finnick Odair. My name had been removed from the list. Just how Jeannie O'Brien would no longer appear on her class list. I might as well have died as well.

I put my hand up in the air. When Mr Sloane looked up from his register he had to do a double take. "Odair?" he said, "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to come back."

Mr Sloane frowned, "You know you are not expected to?"

"I know, sir."

He got to his feet and began to pace up and down, looking down at the class. "At times like these one has to question what I can possibly be expected to teach to a boy like you."

"What do you mean, sir?"

"There is no point in you being here. You are clearly a degenerate individual" he exchanged a glance with Alwin Stoats, a smirking boy I never got on with "and your life _experiences_ do not mesh well with the aims of this institution. After all, there is no point in preparing you for a life in industry when your lot is already determined for you- you cannot hope to keep up with the demands of the tides when you are forever being called back to parade around the Capitol. I wouldn't want to waste my time and, furthermore, I wouldn't want to expose the rest of my students to the view of someone directly responsible for the death of another student. We all have our places, Mr Odair, and yours is not here."

"I would still like to stay, sir, if I could."

He tightened his lips at that but I knew he couldn't really refuse me. They may despise me for what I did to Jeannie but I am still a victor with a direct link to those in charge. Throughout the lesson- which is on the age-old topic of the history of Panem (Capitol style) Mr Sloane never once looked at me and when Alwin started beating my back with his ruler he did nothing to stop him. Every now and then a snide remark was directed at me, or a purposefully evocative question, designed to provoke me was thrown across the classroom. By the end of the lesson I was reeling. During lunchtime Eoghan dragged me to a quiet corner outside but even there I was not given a moment's peace.

A huge boy- Kane Roche- marched towards me, "Hey Odair! You think you can take me on?"

"What?" _Oh right, I'm a Victor, I'm the one to beat_.

"He doesn't look so tough without his trident!"

I felt the reassuring promise of anger creeping upwards from my fists. I didn't try to stop the fight. I so desperately wanted to feel something.

"Come on, then," I said, "Try your best." I gestured for him to come forwards.

He ran at me with his fists up by his chest. I didn't even bother lifting mine. I just stood there waiting for the first blow. Kane was about to throw the first punch when Eoghan stepped forward and jabbed his elbow into his stomach. Kane fell backwards, winded. I guess Eoghan was still mad with his grandfather and wanted to let it out any way he could.

"Hey, no fair." Kane gasped.

"There's no point trying to beat him," Eoghan said, "Even if you do, he's still the victor and you are still just some poor river kid who has to spend his life up to his knees in fish guts."

"Bit rich coming from you." Another boy said.

I am unclear about how it happened- who threw the first punch, who said the last word before all hell broke loose. But it did. I had to remind myself that I was not in the arena as I threw punches and tackled other boys to the ground. I struggled to hold the monster back. Once you have fought for your life it is hard to control that instinct. At one point I held a boy pinned to the ground. It would have been so easy for me to smash his head against the concrete just as I saw Nova do to that girl in the arena but a small voice reminded me that I was just at school, that I was not in danger-not really. I stepped away from him and allowed him to get up. Kane swooped in then and crushed my back into the wall.

"I've got you," he said, smirking in my face.

I looked down and noticed his stance. It was my turn to grin. "One kick to your left shin and you'd come toppling forwards. Grab your right arm as you fall and hold it behind your back. In the moment when you try to get to your feet- a knee in your chest- you'd topple over. A foot pressing down on your back will take you the last part of the way. One twist of your neck. You're dead."

"So do it." The grin had slipped from his face and he looked worried. He had seen me kill before. He knew I could do it.

"No thanks, I'm not the one who has to prove myself."

And prove himself he did. Both Eoghan and I returned home that day bruised and beaten. The gang of boys had got a real kick out of proving that I am not as tough as they thought I believed myself to be. My mother made me swear that I wouldn't try to go back to school again. I didn't much feel like it anyway. It just wasn't the same. I used to be reasonably well liked with a small group of friends and no one else bothered to take much notice of me. Now I can't even walk through the square without feeling completely out of step with the rest of my home. Always swimming against a strong tide, it seems.

Several groups visibly move away as we pass, hurrying to avoid that psychopathic Finnick Odair- the one who is always causing problems. My father pretends not notice. He just keeps walking at a steady pace, always looking straight ahead.

Once we reach the docks he gets the equipment out of the lock-up; the nets, the trident, the knives. He is about to hand me the trident when he stops and pulls back his hand so I can't reach it.

"What?" I ask.

He searches my face. "Maybe you should drive the boat today, eh?"

He doesn't want to give me the trident. Doesn't want people to see his son holding the same weapon that he used to kill. Maybe he doesn't trust me. Maybe he is just waiting for me to lash out. Just waiting for me to murder another person. Clearly he doesn't know me at all.

"I think I'll just stay here," I say, "Maybe go down to the beach."

Another probing look. "You stay out of trouble, yeah?"

_Fat chance. _It's impossible for me to stay out of trouble these days, even when I want to.

The people part like the red sea as I go down to the beach. I sit on a lonely rock and look out at the expansive sky and rolling waves. No one bothers to speak to me.


	24. Chapter 24

I look out the window across to Hollis' house; a slight gap in the curtains gives me a small slither of a view into his kitchen. He probably didn't remember that today is the start of the victory tour. We had told him but his mind seemed to always be elsewhere. I toy with the idea of going to rouse him but before I can get up a member of my prep team begins spreading powder across my face.

"Right, Finnick, last one now. Remember to look straight into the camera; we want you to _connect_ to the audience."

They have me sat in a large red armchair in my study. The once empty selves surrounding the whole room are now filled with dummy books- works that this new, sensitive, Finnick Odair has no doubt read. I don't recognise many of the titles but I get the impression many are love stories. This is obviously what my house is expected to look like- painted in deep red and adorned with trappings of a young Casanova- a single red rose in a vase, half spent candles, plush curtains. And, just like the study, I have been made up to look just as the Capitol expects me to look. At least this time I am not dressed as a fish, although the 'casual attire' Marius dresses me in still looks as though he is struggling to capture the essence of District 4 in their greenish hues. I can only assume that he has never bothered to look outside.

A leather bound book is propped on my lap for me to read my poetry from. This is my talent. I'd had a panic about a month ago when I realised I didn't have one. It is meant to be something I spend a lot of time doing but I spend most of my time wandering hopelessly around trying to avoid everyone - I'm not even particularly good at it. I doubt even the Capitol could have twisted it into entertaining viewing. Augustus suggested I'd be a natural at modelling. So I had tried standing in various clothes as people ordered me to look 'smouldering', 'flirty' or 'rugged' but it just made me feel self-conscious. It had been Mags who suggested the poetry. She had seen the poem I had written the last night before the arena and said she thought I showed some promise. Once I had started the words came with surprising ease. I wrote about my time in the arena, coming home, my parents, my childhood, District 4. It was quite cathartic- gave me a chance to put a few things in perspective as I let the words spill uncensored from my mind. I had to be very careful when I chose which poems I could share with the Capitol. I doubt my adolescent angst would go down well with them so instead I tried to focus on the poems which showed a brighter side- the rainbow tinted life everyone believed a victor should live.

I shift my position slightly in the chair, sitting up a little straighter as I clear my throat. "Should I begin?"

They give me the nod so I turn to look down at the book and the lines of untidy scrawl that is spread across it.

"To Victory

When I win they'll parade me round in colours of joy  
>And the billowing crowds will call my name<br>No more faceless bodies to destroy  
>In the crimsons and coals worn by the slain<p>

Perhaps their blooming faces will haunt my candlelight  
>And I'll see dead men roam through waking dreams<br>But I'll have no cause to run or fight  
>I will hardly heed them through gleaming beams<p>

I will paint my days with golden suns and rolls of blue  
>And all my nights with a shimmering glow<br>My simple life will learn to spring anew  
>Cast in glories a victory does bestow"<p>

_My name echoes round the pinnacles, far above the rest  
>I press their cheers to my frozen tongue<br>To taste the welcome sweetness, here expressed  
>But the numbness leaves the words unsung<br>_  
><em>Can such cloying victories be felt by one so young?<em>

I don't dare read the final verses aloud. They are not for Capitol ears. Instead I smile at the camera and thank them and express how lucky I feel to get an audience for my work. As a final shot I arrogantly wink straight at the camera. I don't want them to take me and my poetry too seriously. That is not what they expect from me, after all. Finnick Odair is not deep and thoughtful he is vain and shallow and thinks far too much of himself.

"Is that me done?" I ask them.

"Yes, thank you, Finnick."

"Can I watch some of the footage?"

It is interesting to watch how they have painted my life. District 4 looks positively idyllic as they cut to different shots. The sun shining on the lake, the pleasant bustle of the square, me spread out on a completely empty beach as I write my poetry- my shirt casually removed, a single boat gently bobbing across the water. If the recording is to be believed hardly anyone lives in District 4 apart from a celebratory crowd collecting their food parcels. If the recording is to be believed then everyone would want to live here. I read poems by the fountain, sat on rocks, looped in the rigging of a boat, on the balcony and finally in the study.

I watch through the poem that I have just read critically judging the way my voice hesitates, the way my hair falls across the eyes, the slight tension I can see in my shoulders. I am about to turn to the crew and ask if I can film it again when my eye is drawn away from the filmed image of myself and to the window behind me. Something is moving frantically across the gap in the curtains in Hollis' house. I lean in closer to the screen but I still can't make it out.

"I think Hollis is finally up," I tell Mags. "I'll go round there and see if I can get him looking presentable."

The strange flickering across Hollis' kitchen window continues on the film until the very end- it's as though something is flying back and forth inside the room.

I mutter my excuses to Marius, Augustus and the prep team, telling them I will be right back. Someone mutters something about the weather and my hair but I am gone before they can stop me.

As soon as I am outside a wicked wind assaults me, flying through the Victor's Village from the sea. Anyone out on the boats today would risk being tossed against the rocks, the boats shattered into driftwood. The sky is grim and overcast- far from the glowing, golden District 4 from the recording. It is all just some sort of camera trick. Nothing in the Capitol is quite what it seems.

I barge through the front door. "I hope you're dressed, Hollis, because I'm coming in!"

The hallway is perfectly cleaned. The floorboards look as though they have been waxed, each picture is straight to the exact millimetre and not a single item is out of place. No wonder none of us have seen him in a while.

"Have you forgotten what day it is?"

I look into each room and, just like the hallway, they are spotless. Something about it reminds me of how my home looked when my parents and I first moved in. At first I can't put my finger on it but then it hits me; there is nothing personal in this house- nothing that could mark it out as belonging to Hollis and his family- everything is just as the Capitol intended. It gives it a soulless and empty quality. Completely hollow.

"We have to leave in about an hour!" I call out into the blankness.

As I push on the door to the kitchen I hear a slight creaking noise like the boughs of a tree as they are rocked by the wind. As the door opens my eyes instantly turn to the figure suspended from the crossbeam.

Probably every child in District 4 knows how to make knots- knots for nets, knots for mooring boats, for lifelines, for rigging… for a noose.

His feet swing gently, hitting against the table top just behind him- the movement just beyond the curtains. I think of the frantic change in shadows, how the object twisted and turned as I read my poem. He must have still been alive. Half an hour ago he was still alive and they must have caught it all- his final struggle.

I push the table underneath him and his ankles curl across the surface. I take a kitchen knife from out the block and climb up next to him. The rope is thick and it takes a long time for me to cut through it. I catch his weight in my arms and lie him down on the table, hopelessly feeling for his pulse. It's easier to see how young he is now.

I thought he had been getting better. I thought that maybe the ghosts had begun to leave him alone so he could finally live. I try to think of the last time I saw him- it must have been about a week ago and he had actually been smiling – laughing. Had he known then what he was going to do?

Weakly I step down from the table and cross to the telephone. I dial my own number.

"Hello?"

"Mags, I…"

"Finnick? Are you coming back? We need to get ready to go." The Victory tour, the cameras, the prep team… It takes me a while to sort it all out in my mind.

"Finnick? Are you there?"

"It's Hollis. He's dead." The words sound foreign on my tongue- hard and clunky- strange syllables that ought never to be uttered.

I keep my ear pressed to the receiver long after the tone tells me Mags has gone.

That is how she finds me: still rigidly stood listening to the harsh electronic sound of the empty line. She prizes the receiver from my grasp and replaces it on the wall, drawing me in to a hug. I don't really know what to say, I am about to tell her I'm fine when I feel the slight fluttering of her body in my arms and I realise this isn't about me.

Mags would have known Hollis for years. She mentored him in the arena, she had lived by him, mentored other tributes with him, seen him at his best and at his worst. Mags had seen us all. She mothers us, fusses over us, grieves our sorrows, and revels in our successes, as if each of us really is her child. She had a hand in creating each of the Victors, growing us inside the arena, keeping us safe, giving us new lives that the Capitol wanted to see. When we stepped out we were hardly recognisable to our own parents- killers all of us, warped by the cameras- but she understood, she helped make us and from that moment on she looked out for us. Now she is a mother faced with the unspeakable loss of a son.

I smooth her hair and whisper softly into her ear as the others stand around the body, saying the same things that I had thought. How happy he had seemed. How they had thought he was doing fine. Meaningless things.

When Sorely comes he takes Mags from my arms and leads her away. I wait a moment, expecting someone to come across to me, to ask me about how I found him, to check that I am fine. But they don't. Eventually Paddy ruffles my hair and tells me I ought to go- that the train will be leaving soon. His face looks strange without its usual smile.

The train. The Victory Tour.

I turn away from the rest of the Victors. None of them notice as I leave, heading back home to collect my suitcase. Mags doesn't join me on the train so I am left with the prep team, Marius and Augustus who talk endlessly about some person I have never met. I have never felt more alone.


	25. Chapter 25

The crowd here stare up at me with empty eyes. They remind me of fish stuck in a glass bowl, forced to swim round and round but never getting anywhere. They clap obediently when I step onto the stage. I do my scripted thank you- add in my prescription pout, a slight flutter of my eyelashes but they fall flat.

The girl from District 12 was the last I killed. If I hadn't this weary district could have actually had a winner. I look into the crowd of emaciated faces and wonder how anyone manages to survive here. It is clear they are starving. They needed a victor- badly.

I meet Haymitch Abernathy at the celebratory dinner. He doesn't eat, only drinks, looking at me with pink eyes.

"How come you've been abandoned?" he asks, "Old Mags had enough of you?"

"Yeah, that's right," I tell him flatly.

"Well, you are pretty intolerable," he gestures wildly towards my face. I don't know if he is indicating my looks, my persona or just me in general.

"And you, sir, are pretty drunk. And there's nothing pretty about that."

He laughs.

I don't mention Hollis. I can't.

* * *

><p>The whole of eleven stinks of rot and mildew. I am grateful when I can step out of the justice building into the square. Everywhere I turn there are fences and fields and orchards. Everything is closed off. It is a large place but it feels small, perhaps because I know no matter how far I travel in any direction it will never be long before I reach another fence. It's like the arena in that way. Limited.<p>

The people are not as weary as those in 12; weariness is replaced with wary glances as Peacekeepers glare down on them. Yet when they applaud there is warmth to it. I killed Sickle, Harrow tried to kill me- we were far from allies and yet they appear to welcome me. I get the sense that maybe they are just pleased that someone survived. Perhaps all these peacekeepers and fences have given them all a clear idea of who the real enemy is. They aren't going to blame some kid for the work of the Capitol. Their reception touches me; I almost forget to keep up my act for the cameras.

* * *

><p>I step into the darkness of the justice building relieved to have another speech over. I try to go into the room with the leather sofas that I had waited in before my appearance but Augustus steps in my way.<p>

"You need to try harder, Finnick," he tells me.

I try to brush him off but he stops me again, grabbing hold of my shoulders and shaking me slightly.

"It's not good enough to just go through the motions- people expect victors to be a little more sincere. As you don't have a mentor here to guide you I feel it is my duty to make sure that you behave appropriately."

"What more do you want me to do? Write them a damn poem?"

"Oh? Do you think you could?" Augustus says excitedly. "I haven't seen that before."

I roll my eyes and spend the rest of the evening sulking into my beef stew. I wish someone from home was here with me.

* * *

><p>I am told that the tributes from 9 were called Teff and Emmer. He died of the cold and she was torn apart by mutts. This makes me feel more comfortable. I am in no way to blame for these deaths. So I play my part well. I blow kisses as they cheer. I tell them how sorry I am, how grateful I am. I try to make them pleased that a polite and charming young man has won the games. My name echoes around the square as feet stomp in tribal appreciation. I am called back onto the stage several times for more. I wave my plaque in the air triumphantly as if it's a trophy. They lap it up as though no one ever died for me- as if I am just a celebrity visiting their endless fields of grain. It actually feels good.<p>

"How's that?" I ask Augustus.

"I couldn't have done it better myself," he says, pulling his puffy lips into a hideous smile.

* * *

><p>"I'm sorry about Hollis," Cecelia tells me, one hand resting on her swollen stomach. I think of Hollis and I wonder how she can stand it- how can she dare to have children when they would be in so much danger? "You must be lonely going on your tour alone."<p>

"It's not easy but, you know…"

She studies my face. "You seem a lot younger when you're not putting on your act for the cameras. It seems a little irresponsible for them to send you alone. They should have sent one of the others with you."

"Well, you know… I've got Augustus. And it was all so sudden; I don't think anyone really had a chance to think about it."

She wraps an arm around my shoulder. "Be careful in the Capitol. I wouldn't want you getting caught up in the wrong crowd."

Tricky, I think, any Capitol crowd is certain to be the wrong one.

* * *

><p>I look around me. So this is District 7. The place I claimed to be from in the games. I was right- there are a lot of trees.<p>

A man slaps me on the back- "You can't see the wood for the trees, eh? I saw you in the arena- seems to me you need a bit of educating about what it's like here in 7. How about the guided tour?"

Blight shows me around. He shows me the towering forest they hew for lumber, the saplings, the cedars that lead up to the Victor's Village. Proudly he leads me all over the district until it is so dark that it is impossible for me to see the trees. But I know they are there.

I quite like District 7. The people seem down-to-earth and likable. If they ever thought to dig a lake here it could actually make a bearable home.

* * *

><p>I can't stand to look at their families. The emotion is so raw. It makes me think of Mags shaking in my arms and the row of solemn faces as they stand around Hollis' body.<p>

I can't really remember the tributes from District 6. I have no idea what they did in the arena, how they died- if I was even there when they did die. I stick to the scripted thank you and even though the crowd cheers I don't react. Surely they can go one day without my posing? Augustus might have words with me again but with the two families watching me I just can't perform.

Amongst them sits a girl about my age. She catches my eye and the pair of us watch each other a while, mirroring each other's sad smile. I wish I had a chance to speak to her- to try and explain myself but they keep me penned inside the justice building. I don't even get to meet their victors.

* * *

><p>The thought of going to District 5 fills me with dread. No longer will I get away with the empty thanks that the Capitol writes for me. I will have to come up with something more personal- some kind of apology. I sit on the train with a pad and paper and struggle to find the words. Outside the window I see flashes of the ugly cement buildings Sparkes described. Still the words don't come.<p>

It is even worse stood in front of the crowd. I see Theta sat with the rest of Sparkes' family. He was meant to marry her, I think. He was meant to go home and marry her. He had something to live for whilst I… I think of the last six months in District 4. I'm not really sure what I have, exactly.

"I feel I ought to give particular thanks to Sparkes. I lied to him about who I was in the arena but I did not lie about my admiration for him. He was exceptionally smart and particularly kind- two things that are remarkable anywhere but particularly in the arena where so much darkness can be seen. I wish I could have brought him back with me. I know I owe him for a great deal- I certainly would not be standing here if it wasn't for his knowledge. So thank you. I know as long as I live he will not be forgotten."

* * *

><p>The dinner in District 3 is functional. I can't describe it any other way. The bread comes in square, bite-sized loaves and is eaten without butter. Every portion is just enough- nothing is in excess but it is flavoursome enough.<p>

The talk at the table is complex. Augustus and Marius ask questions about microchips and strange devices that I have never heard of. The victors happily tell them detailed descriptions about how they are made, who designed them and the theory behind how they work.

My mind slowly zones out, wandering back to District 4. It must be close by. I can almost imagine the smell of the salt wafting in on the air.

"What do you think, Finnick?"

All the faces round the long table turn to look at me. I don't even know what they were talking about.

"Oh… um… I think I need an early night," I feel my cheeks burn red but everyone kindly turns back to their meal and resumes their technical conversation. They ignore me for the most part for which I am relieved.

* * *

><p>I feel appreciated in District 2- perhaps they are glad that someone in our alliance managed to win. I give fabricated views on both Rook and Agrippa, highlighting Agrippa's ingenuity and Rook's determination rather than the bloodthirsty side to their personalities. I am sure those are not the Rook and Agrippa their families know, anyway. They weren't killers before the arena. I thank them and don't mention how I killed Agrippa myself.<p>

As I look out upon the crowd I wonder if Agrippa would have faced the same isolation that I have from killing his district partner. He coldly calculated the whole thing so he could get hold of a weapon whereas I accidentally acted while my mind was not my own. Yet I somehow get the impression that Agrippa might have been met with the Victor's welcome, as is to be expected, rather than cold indifference. If they can greet me with cries of appreciation then they certainly would have given him the same. I suppose I should be pleased that I come from such a morally upstanding district but it is hard to pleased when I have become so cut off from them.

* * *

><p>It is a relief to get to District 1. <em>Not long to go now<em>. I think.

Marius takes particular care about my appearance before I step out onto the stage. "These people know quality," he tells me. "They simply won't put up with anything substandard."

"Surely you have always been dressing me in quality items?"

"Yes, yes," Marius says, "But let's try to have a sense of style."

Style in Marius' books definitely involves metallics and so I face the crowd feeling like a turkey about to be roasted. Maybe I am. I did kill Nova. Once again I just don't mention this and my _style _and _poise _earns me a passably warm reception from the crowd.

* * *

><p>The Capitol is a whirl of colour and excitement. Every person I meet is genuinely pleased that I am there.<p>

I am swept up in the feast- the dancing, the excited chatter, the new sights and smells. There are no dead tributes to mourn, no families to console, no thanks to give. I almost enjoy playing my part- they make it easy. I find myself searching for a bigger reaction, the greater praise, and the more ridiculous facets of my character come to the surface.

There is no sign of President Snow, no sign of Hydra. No one checking up on me to make sure that I behave. Just masses and masses of appreciative citizens who are all clamouring to see me. It is easy to get lost in it. It is magnificent.

* * *

><p>In some ways getting home is the worst. They all put on their show, I put on my show and we all pretend to tolerate each other. I think back to the reception I got in other Districts- in the Capitol. It is strange to think I am more welcome in places that aren't my home. I long for the sincerity of the Capitol's adoration. At least they actually seem to care for me.<p> 


	26. Chapter 26

Here we go again.

_Ten seconds._

24 tributes, 23 mentors, 12 districts, 1 game.

_Nine_

All equidistant from the cornucopia.

_Eight_

An arena covered in scrap metal. A junkyard.

_Seven_

Mags squeezes my hand reassuringly.

_Six_

The girl leans forward onto her haunches, ready to run forward.

_Five. _

The boy chews nervously on his lip.

_Four_

The splash of white liquor as Haymitch fills his glass.

_Three_

I sit forward in my chair, leaning towards the screen.

_Two_

A collective intake of breath.

_One_

Coral Heaton and Cuan Lynch- This is your moment.

Some tributes don't even bother going to the cornucopia as there is so much scrap around and it is just as easy to bludgeon each other over the head with a hunk of metal as it is with anything else. Coral, however, is determined to get to the main supplies. She dances through the warring tributes, ramming a lead pipe into the boy from District 12's head.

"Congratulations, Haymitch that's got to be the quickest exit any mentor has ever had," Chaff shouts across the room, raising his glass. "To Haymitch- who never will get a victor."

"Looks like you turned away too soon." Haymitch says, gesturing towards the screen as the boy from 11 is slaughtered in the bloodbath.

Chaff swears loudly and frantically searches the screen for his girl tribute but she, too, is dead.

Cuan makes a quick run for it with several pieces of scrap; and jumps over the built up heap around the cornucopia, sliding down to the other side. He managed to make himself unpopular with the careers by telling them that he didn't need their help to win and now he is paying the price for it. He certainly has a knack for alienating people. He is older than me but made it quite clear that this was not the only reason he has absolutely no respect for me.

Mags is still holding my hand tightly, her face screwed up, barely daring to watch the screen. Mentoring is different from simply watching the games- you are a part of it as well. On the first night on the train Mags had made one thing very clear to me: whatever I feel about Cuan personally it is still my job to try to bring him and Coral home so I should put my all into it. I am accountable for what happens to them so anything less than my all is unacceptable. The way she spoke it sounded like she thought I might be pleased if Cuan died.

The bloodbath begins to draw to a close. I try to think back to my first day in the arena- what it felt like, what I was thinking- but I draw a blank. I simply can't take myself back there.

An avox comes round carrying a tray of cups. She puts one down in front of all the remaining mentors. I peer inside and see two red pills. "What's this?" I ask Mags.

"It will keep you alert. All mentors have to take them once their tributes get beyond the bloodbath to stop us going to sleep and missing important moments."

I watch as the two mentors from 6 hungrily swallow the tablets. There is no immediate effect. Mags washes hers down with water so I do the same. I don't feel any different. I don't even consider the effects of the tablets until we are on the third day of the games and I am still yet to sleep.

It is like floating in a dream. Every movement relies on autopilot because I am no longer sure I can properly co-ordinate myself, although my mind buzzes with a constant onslaught of ideas. The persistent chatter of the mentors swims around my head in a dizzying swirl. Even if I tried to sleep I wouldn't be able to. The arena. Coral. Cuan. Mags. The Games. Sponsors. Parachutes. I have to do something. I watch the screen. The tribute for District 9 is hiding under a pile of scrap- ready to pounce as the girl from 3 boldly makes her way across the arena towards the cornucopia, looking for scraps the careers have left behind.

The cameras don't show it but I know Coral is still working with the careers and has a healthy supply of food and weapons but Cuan has eaten barely anything since the games began. He doesn't look quite so cocky now. He occasionally mutters to himself about food- or is that meant to be directed at us? Mags hasn't had much luck finding sponsors this year; apparently Cuan has not only alienated himself to the careers.

"Would you like to have a go?" Mags asks as she wearily slumps down in the chair at our station. She rubs her temple, in the exact same spot where my head thuds.

"Is it always like this?"

"Different, but the same."

At the corner of our screen the total amount of money we have to spend on gifts is displayed- currently it is a big fat zero. If we had some money we would be able to negotiate with the Gamemakers to allow us to send items into the arena. Nothing can be sent without prior approval- apparently this is why it took so long for me to receive my trident, because there was some dispute about whether I should be allowed it. They won't let anything in the games they don't want. They direct everything- I would not be surprised if they had the whole thing scripted from the start- all the available props agreed on beforehand.

"What do I say to them?"

Mags looks at me, concern on her face, "You know what you have to say." She tells me.

I will have to flirt. This is why Mags has left me to watch the screens while she handles the sponsors. She knows what it will entail.

"You all right about that?"

"Sure, I'll give it a go."

Potential sponsors are invited to watch the games from a large auditorium known as The Agora which is positioned not far from the Mentor's control room. It is circular and every wall is covered with massive screens showing different aspects of the arena. From here it is possible to watch every tribute and follow their every move in great detail. As they watch they are attended on by a team of avoxes who bring them food and drink, extra cushions and blankets and can adjust the temperature of the room so it is just right. They can place bets- vast sums of money exchange hands at any given time. It is a sport to them. They don't think about children dying, just the glory of backing a winner. People come and go as they please, dipping in and out of the games at their leisure but only the richest and the most influential people are allowed into this sanctum.

I stand in the doorway, watching the scene. Cuan is displayed staggering through the arena on a screen over on the far side but no one seems to be paying him much attention. Coral, along with the other careers, have a healthy following. However, they don't need anything; it would be difficult to convince someone to part with their money when they don't need to in order to make sure she survives. This will come later after the alliance breaks up.

"Finnick!" Hydra has turned round in her chair and is waving. She rushes towards me, kissing me on the cheek as though we are old friends.

Most of the heads in the room turn towards me and a few excited mutters circulate. A few turn towards the two District 4 tributes, probably trying to consider whether it is worth speaking to me. Beetee, who is talking furiously to a heavily tattooed man, struggles to keep his potential sponsor's attention. When the man gets to his feet and walks toward where I stand I see Beetee visually deflate. He has lost his chance.

"I thought Mags had stuffed you into a cupboard somewhere," Hydra teases.

A cupboard? I think of the time I spent hiding in the cupboard after my games. Does she know about that?

"I told her if she wanted any sponsorship out of me she would have to send you in."

"Well I'm here," I cheekily hold out my hand for her to fill.

She giggles playfully- a strangely unnatural sound that doesn't quite suit her, "Oh, Finnick! Some mentors have been chatting to us for hours just trying to get sponsorship what makes you think you can just walk in and get some?"

"Hmm… let me see, " I say, pouting as I pretend to think, "Could it be that I have won the genetic lottery and they haven't?"

"True," she says, "But that kid is no Finnick Odair," she nods toward Cuan. It's true, he is still alive but as a piece of stock he isn't worth a lot in this market. He isn't likable- no one is invested in him- no one wants to see him live, there is no one desperately waiting to meet him on the other side of the arena. "Sell him to me."

My foggy mind tries to find positive things to say about Cuan. "He can beat me in a fight," I tell her. On the train to the Capitol he had me pinned against the wall and Mags had to separate us. It wasn't enough for Cuan to have a chance to prove himself against the rest of the tributes he needed to prove himself against me as well.

Hydra considers this point, "You'll have to do better than that."

Except I can't. I hate Cuan. The only thing that is keeping me here is the sense of responsibility that Mags instilled in me. I don't want him to die- I really don't- not one of the tributes deserves to- but he makes it so difficult for me to fight for him. I should try, though.

"Come on," I say, "As a favour for me."

She raises her eyebrow. "If I remember correctly I have already paid you a few favours."

I don't know what more I can say. How am I supposed to convince her?

"Finnick, you know it's no use, don't you?"

"I know Cuan is a bit… but Coral she…"

Hydra shakes her head, "She's not going to win. Neither of them will and you know it."

"But-"

"Don't waste your time. I didn't ask for you to come in here so I could give you money. I'm having a party. I would like you to attend."

"I can't- I have to stay here- everyone expects me to be the control room- it's my job- I-"

My eyes dart across to the screen as the room erupts with shouts, almost masking the sound of the cannon. Cuan is sprawled across the floor, covered in blood, his limbs flailing out at odd angles as the girl from District 1 stands over him with a rusty bar. He's dead. Sponsorship won't help him now.

There is still Coral, of course, I should still fight for her. Except I know she won't win.

Mags is expecting me back in the control room. I should go back and support her, talk about where it all went wrong, receive friendly jokes and condolences from the other victors, focus all my attention on Coral. That is my responsibility. I am still accountable for her. But I am so tired. I haven't slept in three days. I'm fed up of The Games.

"So what do you think?" Hydra asks me. "We could go now."

I look back at the screens. The Hovercraft is taking Cuan away.

"Sure," I tell her.

She directs me out the door. I'm sure no one will miss me. Mags will manage just fine without me. What's the harm in a little down time? Besides, it will be fun to mix with the people from the Capitol again. Things are so much simpler with them. They don't consider Cuan as a person so there is no reason to be upset by his death. I can go back to The Games tomorrow.


	27. Chapter 27

I stand with the receiver clamped to my ear listening to the constant ringing. _Don't pick up. Don't pick up. _

"Hello?"

"It's me, Finnick."

My mother lets out a deep sigh as if she's been holding her breath for a very long time, for all the months she has been waiting for me to call. I couldn't do it for a long time because I had no way to explain my actions. I still can't.

"How are you?" she asks, I can hear her voice begin to crack.

"I'm fine," I can say it as many times as I like but I still can't disguise the way my voice gets a fraction higher making it sound a little less than sincere.

"We saw you on the news."

This is my mother's way of telling me that she knows what I am up to. In the Capitol they seem to enjoy providing weekly updates of my activity, who I have met and what I wore. I have no idea about how much of this coverage actually reaches the districts.

"Yeah, they do a lot of filming."

There is an awkward pause. I consider signing off, telling her I have something I have to do but before I can figure out a reasonable excuse she continues.

"Why didn't you tell us you were staying?"

"It was easier for Mags to tell you."

"We waited for you at the station."

I already knew this. Mags had told me about it in a desperate bid to convince me to return to District 4. The disappointment on their faces. The confusion. They just couldn't understand why I wouldn't want to come back but then they have never been anywhere else- never seen what lies beyond the confines of home apart from on the old juddering picture on our television screen.

"How is everyone?"

"You know, same old, same old" she says, "Your father's given the boat a new coat of paint. How are you? Have you been looking after yourself?" more worry.

"I'm eating fine," I tell her. I think of last night's party- the buffet table that stretched from one end of the room to the other covered with enough food for a year. No one is ever hungry in the Capitol- not for food. Not for anything. Except, perhaps, entertainment.

"Where are you staying?"

"They set me up in an apartment near the inner circle- I have it completely to myself."

"I'm glad."

Another silence, pregnant with all the things neither of us can quite manage to say.

"When are you coming home?"

It's the question I have been dreading. Hydra had asked me the same thing a few weeks back, a single eyebrow quirked in curiosity. She was directing me to another party- the third that week- she stood in the doorway, leaning against the front door.

"It's not that I don't want you here it's just, I'm sure someone's expecting you back. Aren't your parents worried about you?"

"They know I'm ok. That's enough," I lied.

"Most Victors can't wait to go back home."

"Well I'm not most victors."

"Are you hiding from something… or someone?"

I shrugged, "I just fit in better here."

"But you're so young. How can you be sure?"

"Oh I'm sure."

I took her by the arm and led her down to the car. The evening passed in a whirl of dancing bodies. I gorged myself on food- strange exotic dishes I had never heard of, I sipped at champagne, letting the bubbles tickle my nose. I could forget about Finnick Odair- the boy who everyone hates back home, the boy who walked out on his tributes at the games and become someone else. A bigger, brighter me who always told the best jokes, who was never seen without a throng of admirers, who danced through the evening changing partners in rhythm with the pianist's constantly changing songs. There are no worries here. Every night is a party to be enjoyed.

"I might stay until the Games," I tell my mother. "There's no point coming back now."

"The Games aren't for another six months."

I try to change the subject. "It's the victory celebration tonight. I've been invited."

Even before she speaks I can hear the disapproval in her voice. "I suppose you'll get to meet the latest victor, then, that Cashmere- or whatever she is called."

"I've already met her."

I had approached her a few days ago at a private party that one of Hydra's friends was throwing. She had been defensive, dismissive even. I got the impression I had caught her in the middle of some storm. When I spoke to her she hardly replied but she sought me out several times, her mouth dropping open slightly as if she wanted to say something but nothing quite came out. Instead our conversation died many painful deaths. She didn't even smile when I complimented her on her appearance- something I had learnt to do since my time in the Capitol. Usually this was met with giggles or teasing remarks.

I asked her to dance, wondering if it might loosen her tongue and while her curls rested on my shoulder I heard her whisper in the quietest of voices, "Has it happened to you too?"

"Has what happened?"

"But I thought-"

She pulled away from me, anger in her eyes. Hurt. She shook her head at me in disbelief. I tried to catch hold of her, to make her explain what she meant but she rushed from the dance floor muttering an excuse about touching up her make-up. Whatever it was that had happened to her it wasn't good. I tried finding her again but she avoided me for the rest of the evening. She left with a man I didn't recognise that Hydra called Lullius. He had a face like a weasel.

"She killed Cuan, you remember."

And I killed Jeannie. One thing you learn about spending time with victors is that you can't measure a person by the people they have murdered.

"Is Dad around?"

The line goes silent for a while. I hear footsteps on the floorboards. I take this moment to grab the pen and paper and begin drawing swirls all over the page. Anything to keep busy. Another set of footsteps.

"Finnick," he sounds annoyed.

"Yeah?"

"I hope you're happy."

"I am." _Mostly. _

I don't really like living alone. The nights when I stay in are the worst. That's when I hear the ghosts outside the window. It doesn't matter that the apartment is on the fifteenth floor I can still hear them tapping on the glass, asking me to let them in. Sometimes it is Jeannie, or Sparkes, sometimes it is the girl from 12 or Cuan, sometimes it is just a whole sea of tributes all of them wanting to know why I should live when they had to die.

I'm very familiar with my closest. Some nights I barricade myself in and sleep amongst the clothes. When Gallus, the avox given the task of tending to me, finds me in the morning he looks at me with pity and drags me to my feet. I get the feeling he understands. Still, I tend to make a point of going out at night and only sleeping during the day.

The parties, the extravagance, this is the only way to forget. The only way to fill the void the Games left in me.

"Your mother is distraught."

A pang of guilt clenches my stomach. I am being selfish.

"It won't be forever." I tell him.

"When is the next train out of there?"

"I don't know."

"Finnick!"

"What?"

"You're being completely unreasonable."

"Well who says I have to be?" _The anger, _my only defence because I know I am wrong- all of this is wrong but I don't want to go home and face it all again. "Maybe I don't want to be reasonable."

"I think it would be better if you just came home."

"Well I don't! You don't understand anything- how could you? There is no possible way you could know what this is like."

I can't stop myself from speaking; I can't stop the hurtful things pouring from my mouth in an uncensored waterfall that I never intended for anyone to ever hear. When I am finished I am met with silence. Cold, awful silence.

"Well if that's really how you feel," he finally says. Then, even worse, he adds "I'm sorry we have failed you."

My anger flairs up again. How dare he turn this around on himself- claim this is all his fault. This isn't about him or my mother- this is about me. About how I feel- what I need. I don't want to know their hurt, how awful I have made them feel- I don't want another thing to add to my long list of regrets. This is why I had to escape- to hide myself behind shallow things so no one can see what is happening to me. The bright lights, the costumes, the persona- everything that the Capitol has is the only way of disguising it. I cannot hide in District 4. Everyone sees through me.

I used to blow kisses and pout to make people turn away from me, to stop them staring at me for something I had no control over. I guess I'm still doing that. Except now the main person I want to hide from is myself. I am ashamed of who I have become.

"You haven't failed me," I tell him, my voice more measured now as I try to lock away my anger, as I try to remember the Finnick that he wants to talk to, not this warped shadow.

"Well it's clear you haven't been given the support you need."

"I'm fine. I just… I just need a break." I just can't go back. I just can't.

"All right," his voice is softer now too.

"Maybe you could come and visit me here."

"Yeah, maybe," he says, but we both know he won't. He will be too busy with the boats. Most people in District 4 aren't as redundant as I am.

Silence.

"I suppose I ought to let you get back to…"

"Yeah."

"Finnick?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe try to be a bit more… _respectable_. All those parties… people are beginning to talk. Your mother is beside herself about it. Just don't do anything stupid, all right?"

"They are just parties, Dad, nothing else. It's what people do here."

"Well, be careful. You don't know what these Capitol people have in mind. They aren't like us."

"All right."

"Bye, then."

"Bye."

I wait to hear the empty tone then I replace the receiver in its stand.

I glance at the clock. It's almost time for the party. I no longer really feel like going but it will be better than sitting alone all evening.

I expect my parents will be settling in for the evening, telling each other stories about their day. Discussing the phone call. Worrying about me. Worrying about that vast, unknown and alien place known as the Capitol.

I go through to my bedroom and flick through my cupboard for something to wear. I settle for a plain green shirt- I wouldn't want to steal the show- it's supposed to be Cashmere's night.

As I change I hear the click of the front door. It must be Gallus come to inspect the state of the apartment and to offer me food if I am staying in. I do up the last button as I cut through to the kitchen.

"Gallus, I won't need any food tonight, I am going-"

But it isn't Gallus who has let himself into my apartment. It is someone small and old who has a kind smile.

"Mags."

She takes off her coat and hangs it on one of the pegs by the door before she approaches me, sitting down carefully on the edge of the sofa. She pats the space next to her, indicating that I should sit. Wordlessly I do so. When I am comfortably sat in place she turns to me, looking more serious than I have ever seen her look.

"We need to talk," she tells me.

* * *

><p><strong>AN- The Finnick we all know and love is still in there somewhere- I promise- but he's young and makes mistakes. There is still nine years before the events of Catching Fire so I wanted to gradually build him up again from a breaking point after his games. We all know who is going to help him do that, right?<strong>

**Thank you for reading thus far- this is turning into a bit of a novel: 60,000 words already- in less than a month. I'm pretty proud of myself. I hope you are enjoying reading it. As always reviews are welcome- go on, make my day.**


	28. Chapter 28

_We need to talk. _Has there ever been a worse statement?

"You are going to try and get me to go home, aren't you? Well it won't work," I tell her. I get to my feet; I need to find a jacket for the party.

"Finnick, sit down," Mags says, "I just want to talk. I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to do."

Slowly I retreat but I don't sit. I lean on the back of the chair, ready to walk away should the moment present itself. I have heard it all before, anyway. I feel her eyes watching me and I squirm. I know she wants me to look at her but I can't stand to look at her face. I can't stand to see the disappointment I know is there. Besides, if she sees my expression there will no longer be any hiding. There is no way I can just brush her aside, she sees things that my parents don't. She knows about the Capitol, what it's like to be a victor. She knows what I am doing.

"What do you want to say?" I ask the floor.

"Have you ever seen a person drown?"

"Yes. You know I have-in the arena- that boy…"

"That's different. He was being held under. You ever seen someone drown in the open water?"

I don't want to think about it, it is easier to pretend it never happened, but I can't stop by my mind as it drifts to a sunny afternoon. An orange leaf floats by me across the surface of the lake, moving across the soft cloudy reflection of the sky.

I'm six years old. My brother only three. He is clearly visible in his red coat as he stands on the bank trying to skip stones as he has seen our father do. I hear each stone as it bursts through the surface and sinks to the bottom. He'll be trying to do that all afternoon.

I lean back in the water and close my eyes, letting the sun soak into my skin, warming me right through. Our father will be back soon. Just a couple of minutes, he said. Keep an eye on Callan, he said. He wanted to give us both a surprise.

As I float I slowly become aware of the water lapping at my cheek as it does in the sea. I turn myself upright and look around. I can see nothing in the water. I make a few strokes in the direction of the ripples but there is still nothing. I look along the bank. Callan has vanished. It is only then that I see the small piece of red bobbing in the water at the very edge, only about a metre from the edge.

I swim as fast as I can until I can stand, then I run through the water. I grab hold of him under his arms and pull him desperately upwards. But I can't lift him to the surface. I try again but something is holding him down. I duck under the water, forcing my eyes open. I can just about make out a tangle of weeds twisted around his ankle.

I go up to the surface again, drawing in a huge lungful of air. "Dad!" I shout but there is no one around, no one to help. Callan still thrashes in the water, small ripples the only sign of his distress. I duck below the water again and grab hold of the weeds, trying to pull them off him, trying to untangle them, to pull them from their bed. I break the surface again then duck below. A quick breath then down again, plunging into the water. But the weeds won't come loose. I duck down again and again. By the time my father arrives there is no one left to save and it is me that he drags, kicking and screaming onto the bank.

I try not to think about it too much. I don't really remember much about Callan. My parents have all the pictures of him stored in a drawer in their room. Sometimes I used to pull them out and shuffle through them. There is the one from when he was first born- swaddled in my mother's arms, one of us playing together in the sand and one of him paddling in the sea, his clothes soaked right through. I often wonder what it would be like if he was still alive, If we had been able to grow up together.

I doubt, if he had lived, I would be as strong as swimmer as I am today. It had become my obsession after his death. I would go out every day with Eoghan and Annie and we would practice. Sometimes I was tough on them but I was determined that we should all be able to swim, that we would all be able to stop ourselves from drowning. I put them through drills, taught them ways to bring the dying back to life, made them keep going until I was absolutely certain that there was no possible chance of us drowning. I wasn't going to let that happen again.

But I don't want to think about that now. I don't want to think about the still bodies floating in the water.

"You should go home," I say to Mags, opening the front door and gesturing for her to leave. I can feel the ghosts closing in on me, getting too close for comfort. The little boy that I couldn't save among them. The same little boy that I hadn't allowed myself to think about in years.

Mags doesn't move but looks me squarely in the eye, "Finnick?"

"Yes?" I snarl at her.

" You're drowning."

The moment she says it I feel the wave come crashing down over me. Feel the full force of all my regrets, all my faults, every stupid little thing- every impossibly large weight that has pulled me under ever since I won the Games. Yes, drowning is the word. Looking oh so still, so calm on the surface but screaming inwardly as second by second my life is drained away.

I pull back again. I don't want to have this conversation. I don't want to think about it, but she gets to her feet and takes both my hands in hers, stopping me from going anywhere.

"It's alright; you're not the first victor who has struggled with winning. You've just got to look at poor Hollis to see that."

"I know. I just… I'm dealing with it." _Dealing with it. _That's what Hollis used to do. Bottle it up inside until there was no space left- not a single millimetre of space to cram any more anger or hurt so it all had to explode out of him. Hold the demons in too long and they begin to appear in your eyes and in your mind- slippery images that linger in the strange murky part of the day or on the edge of your vision. Impossible to reach, impossible to chase away.

"Are you dealing with it?" Another scrutinising look. "From where I'm standing it looks more like you are just putting everything you have into looking like you are still together."

Her grip on my hands is firm, I test it a little but she still holds me fast. "I have to go to the party," I tell her. I need to escape again, to forget. To have someone tell me how courageous I am, how handsome I look, how charming I am being.

"All right," she loosens her hold, "You go."

I take my hands away from hers but for some reason I don't move. For some reason I just can't walk away. Now I have begun to feel the wave washing over me it is impossible to ignore it. "You're not being fair," I tell her.

"What do you mean?" She grins at me and heads across to the kitchen where she begins to search through the cupboards.

"I can't leave. Not really. Not now."

"Then stay." She puts two mugs down on the worktop and fills the kettle. It bursts into life with a low whistle. I haven't once stepped foot into the kitchen since I moved here.

"I can't." I tell her, "You're making things impossible."

"Drink?"

"I…" Our eyes meet for the briefest of moments. _I give up._ "Sure, why not?" I snap at her. She's never going to leave me alone anyway.

I throw myself down on the sofa, pummelling a cushion with my fist, "I suppose you are going to tell me how miserable I've been making everyone?" _I don't want to hear it. I can't bear to hear it._

"What's the point when, clearly, it is you who you are making the most miserable?"

I hate this. I hate it that she knows everything. It shouldn't be this simple for her to understand. She must think I'm awful.

She carries two steaming mugs over to the seating area and places them down on the coffee table on two neat black coasters that someone has thoughtfully placed there, as if they expected me to have many guests round for tea.

"So what are we going to do about it?" She asks me.

"Not a lot we can do." I want to scream at her to get away and leave me alone but she is so calm and so sensible. I should listen to her. I _need_ to listen to her. I try to push the anger away, to bury it in a place where it won't lash out at her. Then the tiniest whisper of the truth begins to slip out. "I'm broken"

"Nonsense," she waves her hand, dismissing my confession entirely.

"It's true- I can't feel anything anymore- except anger. I wake up every day and I am angry because I don't know what else to do." I turn to the cushion in my lap, picking at a loose thread. "I don't know how else to feel."

"What are you angry about?"

"The Games, District 4, Hollis- how I've behaved. All of it- everything."

"Finnick," she says softly, "You're not broken."

"I am- I am just like those careers. I killed those people and I didn't even..." Something trembles inside me, something I can't control, something that is desperate to be let out but I try to push it back. "I think I've turned into a monster."

"Everyone has their own way of dealing with this. Can't you see how much it has affected you? This is what makes you human- if you didn't care so much then you wouldn't be struggling like you are. You just need to find a better way of dealing with it. Living here- going to all those parties- it isn't changing anything. You see? We need to figure something out."

The trembling increases, I clutch hold of the cushion, bracing myself against it as the tears finally begin to fall, tracing warm lines down my face. They are strange hollow things but still a sense of relief touches me and I feel a little lighter.

"I think I want to go home," I whisper.

Mags rubs my shoulder comfortingly then quietly gets to her feet. "I'll pack you bag." She disappears into my bedroom leaving me alone. I'm glad to be alone, given a moment to cry in peace. A moment to think about all I have done. How selfish I have been and the ways I have to change.

Overcome by a sudden urge to write I grab the pad of paper from by the phone and rest it in my lap. Slowly the words begin to fall.

_It lifted its monstrous head: the roaring wave, as it frothed and rolled and struck._

_And under it I was drowning, drowning_

_And slowly coming unstuck_

_For the list it ran from my toe to the sky and kept on reaching impossibly high_

_I couldn't move. Feet locked in the seabed_

_Anchored there by my regrets and my dread_

_I can't climb and I can't lift up, can't find a way of coming unstuck._

_So I stay there watching it fall_

_Sometimes doing nothing, nothing at all._

_And the wave grows higher._

_There's no way to beat it, nothing to do but grin and meet it._

_Each wave blasts through me, knocking me down_

_Oh what easy way to just drown_

_Ragged and worn and impossibly cast_

_This kind of beating is not one I can last_

_It will roar and roll until nothing is left_

_When will I ever get a chance to just rest?_


	29. Chapter 29

I hate District 4. I hate the way they stare at me with the same blame as before. I hate the way they all avoid me. I hate the emptiness of Hollis' abandoned house. I hate the buzz of schoolchildren as they head home. I hate the look on my mother's face- the one that tells me she is scared of losing me again. I hate my father's attempt to patch things up- the awkward fishing trips, the terse conversation. I hate the knowing looks on the victor's faces and the vastness of my house. Mags promised me that it would get better but it just feels exactly the same. I am still drowning in it. This is not something I can fix overnight.

I kick at the loose stones as I make my way along the dusty road. There's only one person I want to see- one person that might be able to take my mind off everything- just for a moment.

I reach the familiar dilapidated building on the edge of the sands. Weeds grow up through the pathway, bits of glass scattered everywhere. All the curtains are closed giving the place a forbidden look. Mr Cresta is sat outside on his old rocking chair. Annie is sat by his feet fixing a net, her long dark hair blowing in the wind. There is no sign of Eoghan.

As I approach Annie looks up at me, her eyes growing impossibly wide. She drops her net into her lap and fumbles to retrieve it.

"He's not here," Mr Cresta tells me, his annoyance clear in his voice. "I told him to go off and make himself useful. Gave him jobs to do. Can't have him sitting idle all day like some sort of bum." I know this is meant to be a jab at me. I can't blame him though, I know I am useless.

"Do you know when he'll be back?"

"Not before he's finished, if he has any sense."

"All right, well, thanks anyway…." I turn back down the road wandering idly. There is nothing for me to do now. I suppose I could go looking for Eoghan but it is unlikely that I'll find him- Mr Cresta could have sent him anywhere.

I decide to go to the beach. At least then I'll be able to watch the boats and pretend like I have a purpose. I slowly turn down the twisted road where I will no longer be seen and I allow my shoulders to droop down and my pace to slack. It's not like I'm in a rush.

"Finnick!" I turn to see Annie running after me, her bare feet thumping footprints in the sand. She skids to a halt just in front of me. "Finnick, I think Eoghan has gone to help Mr Murphy in his shop- I heard Grandfather speaking to him earlier."

"In the bakery?"

Annie nods, "We could go to him."

I shake my head, "It will only get him into trouble again." The last thing I want is to be the cause of another row between Eoghan and his grandfather.

I turn and keep going along the road. I hear the soft tread of her feet behind me.

"I could… spend some time with you, if you wanted." Annie says.

"I think I'm OK," I tell her. "I was going to go down to the beach." I keep walking but she continues to follow me, just a few paces behind.

"What were you doing in the Capitol all that time?" she asks me.

I shrug, "I just went to a few parties."

"I saw you on the television," there is something accusatory in the way she says it, something confrontational in the way she speeds her step just at this moment to catch up with me. I see now. She is just like the rest of them: quick to question everything I do, quick to pass judgement.

"So? What do you know about it, anyway?" I can't help but snap at her. I just want to be left alone.

"Nothing," her cheeks turn red. "I just… wanted to know what it is like. I've never been to a party."

"What?" I begin to feel kind of bad about snapping at her now. She looks hurt, embarrassed. She's only a kid.

"I've never been to a party," she repeats in a quiet voice.

"I heard you. I just…I thought you… people aren't usually interested."

She considers me a moment, taking in my expression, thinking about my words. I have never seen someone think quite so much. Eventually she brushes her hair out of her face and sets her jaw, her decision clearly made. "You can tell me all about it on our way to the beach."

I don't argue with her. Maybe I can somehow make up for snapping at her. It won't hurt anyway, it's not like I have any great plans. As we walk I tell her about the food, about the colourful dresses that the women wear and the strange music. She laps up every word, asking me questions animatedly.

When we reach the edge of the beach there is a small group of teenagers sat over on the rocks. I pull back slightly, reluctant to go any closer.

"Don't be silly, Fin," Annie tells me, "I'm here to keep you safe." She directs me towards the right and we begin to walk along the shore, our backs to the teenagers. I am tempted to look over my shoulder, to check that they aren't following but Annie takes hold of my arm and leads me onwards, "What was the dancing like," she asks eagerly.

"Just… well everyone dances in couples."

"Show me," she insists, holding out her hands.

"I'm not going to show you," I tell her, looking over my shoulder at the teenagers. They have risen from their rock and are following us along the beach.

"Why not? It will be fun," she waves her hands insistently, clearly wanting me to take them.

"I'm not going to dance with you," I hiss at her. I don't know where she thinks we are or what those teenagers are doing but there is no way I am going dance in front of them. It is bad enough as it is.

Annie catches my gaze and the pair of us stand and watch as the group slowly pass us. Alwin Stoats jeers at me. Kane Roache narrows his eyes, "I own you," he tells me, "Remember that." The group keeps walking, laughing among themselves. I keep my eyes fixed on them until they look like ants in the distance.

"They really bother you, don't they?" Annie says.

"They hate me- everyone hates me." I throw myself down on the sand. I have had enough of walking. At least while I am sat here I know the distance between me, Stoats and Roache is getting gradually bigger. I hold my head in my hands. I should have just gone home. I'm sure I could have found something to do like move the furniture around or fix the leaky tap. Anything but this.

"I don't hate you," Annie tells me, "And neither does Eoghan. Or your parents. Or the other victors."

"Great."

She sits down next to me, digging her feet into the wet sand.

I look up slightly, watching the horizon as it glows orange in the sunset. The way the light hits the water is just... perfect. I haven't seen it in so long. It is easy to forget about these small things. I guess that is something good about being here.

"You know what?"

"No, what?"

"There is this story that mother used to tell me- I can still remembe it. It reminds me a bit of you?"

"Why because the main character is a social pariah?"

She screws up her mouth, "A bit."

"See, told you."

"But he is also brave and strong and well… misguided," she adds hurriedly. She is trying to make me feel better.

"I guess you're going to tell me about it."

"Well it's either that or you show me the dancing," she says.

"The story it is," I quickly reply. I don't have the energy to dance.

She turns away from me, squinting out at the sea, as if struggling to remember something. Her fingers clutch hold of her necklace- a tired old thing that used to belong to her mother. Then she slowly closes her eyes.

"Well, I probably won't remember all of it and I definitely won't be able to tell it as well as mother could but I'll try. It's about a man called Dylan who was washed up on the shores in some far off land when he only a very small boy. No one knew where he had come from; there were no shipwrecks or boats passing by. Some people said he came from the sea itself, born from the waves, some say he used to be a merchild, some that he just came to the beach and collapsed down upon the sands."

Each word is very precise, like she is trying to remember the lyrics to a song. I imagine her sat on her mother's lap as the same story is repeated every night before bedtime, perhaps it is an old family tale, or just something her mother made up but these things become ritualistic to young ears. I still remember every word my own mother used to sing me to sleep with each night.

"He is found by a kind old fisherman who takes him in and raises him like his own son. Many years pass and people soon forget about his strange beginnings but Dylan is desperate to prove himself, desperate to become something more than just a lowly fisherman. When he is eighteen years old a man comes to their village bearing news of a terrible sea monster that threatens the waters around the neighbouring town of Invansee. It is decreed that whoever manages to rid the town of the monster will receive great rewards and will be hailed as a hero. Of course this is too much for Dylan to resist so the very next day he takes his father's boat and sets out for Invansee to kill the monster.

"He is directed to a spot far out to sea and so he sails there and waits for the monster to come to him. The skies begin to darken and the seas grow rough but still he waits… Suddenly he sees something in the water- just a wisp of black so he takes his spear and drives it into the icy waters. However, instead of striking a terrible beast something is pulled out of the water with the spear and is thrown into the bottom of the boat. It is a beautiful woman with long flowing hair and brilliant green eyes. He is mesmerised by her beauty, his heart already full of love for her. He asks her if she is a victim of the monster and if so she should tell him where the beast is hidden. The woman shakes her head and tells him 'The monster is within me. It is me that you must kill.' So he takes his spear in hand and lifts it to strike the woman, only he cannot do it, he cannot kill her. He cannot believe that anything so beautiful could ever be a monster. It is clear that the man lied, that it was all some trick but Dylan is too smart to fall for it. He is not going to kill an innocent woman just because a man says he should. Together Dylan and the woman sail away and he carries her onto the land.

"They travel everywhere, side by side. Dylan, still determined to be a hero, follows her directions as she finds new monsters for him to face. He defeats the beast with a thousand eyes and the witch that lives on the highest mountain. He solves the riddle of the desolate mound and he explores the far reaches of the universe. He is hailed as a great hero and given both fame and fortune. Until one day… one day…"

Annie slowly opens her eyes.

"What is it?" I ask.

"I don't remember what happens next. He does something wrong- the woman tricks him- he sees her for who she is and he tries to kill her but still he can't. I don't remember what it was he did… but he isn't much liked after that. It's been so long since I heard her tell it to me," she is beginning to get anxious now as she struggles to think of the story. "I need to remember it!" she says desperately, "It's one of the only things…" she is still clutching at her necklace. "I can't believe I've forgotten."

"Surely Eoghan will remember it- you could just ask him."

"Yes," she nods to herself, "Yes, I could. I hope he remembers. Sorry I couldn't tell you all of it."

"It's all right. It was… nice." And it was. For the first time since returning to 4 I have actually had a short amount of time when I wasn't wishing I could escape back to the Capitol; where I could actually enjoy someone else's company, enjoy the sunset, enjoy the beach and the boats. "We should do it again sometime," I tell her. "Maybe do some swimming- it will be like old times."

"Yes," she says, "That would be good," She hurriedly gets to her feet, "Look, I had better go, grandfather will be waiting for me. I'll ask Eoghan about the story."

She skips away, darting around the pebbles that run along the sand. Maybe Eoghan isn't the only one that can make me forget.


	30. Chapter 30

A peel of laughter ripples down the hallway and the soft hum of the music reverberates around the walls. It's my sixteenth birthday party, as envisioned by the Capitol, playing out just a few doors down. It is like nothing I have ever seen before. Everyone is dressed in fantastical versions of mythical sea creatures and we gorge ourselves on oysters and lobster. The floor is covered in a mountain of sand and the walls draped with curtains that hang like glistening wet seaweed. What better way to celebrate the birth of a boy from District 4?

If only I had been allowed to stay and enjoy it. Hydra had whisked away, stuffing me into this room, flanked by a man I didn't recognise. It is very plain here in comparison to the grand ballroom- no seaweed, no sand, only a single balloon hovers in the corner like an uninvited guest. Hydra pushes on the door and it slowly clicks shut, cutting me off completely from the party.

"This is Blasius," she tells me, "He works for President Snow," her expression darkens slightly.

"Like you do," I say.

"Sit down, Mr Odair," he tells me, driving me into a hard wooden chair that has been set up near the centre of the room. I hit the seat of the chair with a thump. Blasius steps towards me. He adjusts his earpiece and repositions his microphone so it is near his mouth. "Is everything in position?" he asks someone on the other end of the line. His smile broadens as he hears their response, his tongue flicking over a row of gold teeth. "Excellent."

I turn to Hydra, hoping to work out what is going on, her face betrays nothing but there is something about the way she lingers by the door that makes me think that something isn't right, that something terrible is about to happen. I have a sudden, terrible feeling that Blasius is going to kill me.

I look around the room searching for options. There are candlesticks on the fireplace, a poker near the grate but if he has a gun neither of these will do me much good.

"Mr Odair, President Snow wishes to extend his congratulations to you, he is sorry that he couldn't make the celebrations himself but as you can imagine with the upcoming games his attention is in high demand."

Hydra is stood in front of the door so I would have to fight her off if I am to escape that way. The windows are barred from the outside and even if they weren't we are on the fifth floor- there would be no guarantee that I'd survive the drop.

"Relax," Blasius tells me, "I am here to give you a job."

"A job?"

"President Snow indicated that you have a particular skill set that he thinks will be most useful."

"Me? Work for Snow?" What does he want me to do? What could I possibly do for the President?

"Try to keep up, Mr Odair," Blasius rolls his eyes. He lifts one of his fingers to his ear and listens carefully to his earpiece. "I will give you the signal," he tells them. Signal? Signal for what?

"What do you want me to do?" Again I look to Hydra for answers but none are forthcoming. She just looks apologetically back at me.

"There is a woman at this party called Lucilla Stone," he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a picture of a woman in her thirties. She looks vaguely familiar. I expect I have seen her before at one of Hydra's many parties.

"What's this got to do with-"

"Listen," Blasius tells me, he makes a gesture like he is pulling a zip across his mouth looking pointedly at me. "Now, she has recently done the President a great favour- the exact details of which do not matter here. What does matter is that she has taken a particular interest in you, much like most of the population of the Capitol. Now President Snow needs to repay her in kind for her service and that is where you fit in."

He pauses again to listen to the person speaking in his ear.

I can feel apprehension rising in my stomach. What has this got to do with me? What could he possibly want me to do?

"You are to accompany her for the rest of the evening- dance with her, tell her jokes, make her feel special- _seduce_ her." He reaches into his jacket again and this time he pulls out a set of keys, "These keys are to an apartment on Parade Street. You will take her there and spend the night in her company."

"You mean…?"

"The pair of you will have sex. I trust you are familiar with that concept?" Another flash of his gold teeth.

I think I'm going to sick. I struggle to keep a hold on myself. "And what if I refuse?" I manage to choke out.

"I had hoped you would ask me that. I am linked with a small team of recruits that have been deployed to District 4 for the remainder of your stay in the Capitol. Should you refuse President Snow's _job offer_ then I am to instruct them to target your home."

My family. They are all I have left. There is no way I can let them get to them. No way I can survive without them.

"But you can't get away with that, people would-"

"You'd be amazed at the subtle ways we can make people disappear, Mr Odair."

I look again at Hydra, surely she isn't going to let him do this? Surely she is going to offer me another solution- a way out. I thought we were friends- the jokes, the parties… was this all just part of the set up? Was she parading me round the Capitol just so people would see me- remember who I am?

"Just this one time?" I ask, "Then I'll be free to go?"

"I'm afraid it isn't that simple, Mr Odair, you see, by sparing your life in the games President Snow was granting you quite the favour. He saved your body from harm and now, as part of reparations, he is going to use your body as he sees fit. In other words, your contract will be an extended one. There is nothing to stop us from having a small team deployed in District 4 permanently, after all."

"But-"

"Don't be nervous, Mr Odair, you'll soon see that it is no different from any other time. You might even come to enjoy it."

_Enjoy it? _ The picture of Lucilla Stone flashes through my mind. Her sparkling teeth, her enhanced glowing yellow eyes, and clownish make-up. _I can't do this. _I always imagined my first time to be with someone special at a time when things are better – when I have found a way to feel like myself again. Of all the many horrible things I knew the Capitol could do to me I never expected this to be one of them. I think of Cashmere, how she ran from me at the feast- How she left with that strange man. I should have known. I should have realised it then but I was too busy feeling sorry for myself, too busy trying to escape to pay attention to what is happening right in front of me.

Blasius mutters something into his microphone, talking to the person who might kill my whole family. The person who could take everything away from me if I refuse.

"Well Mr Odair, have you made your decision?"

It's not like I really have a choice. "I'll do it."

"Hold fire," Blasius says into his microphone. "They will stay by your house until we are sure the job has been carried out to our satisfaction."

Shell-shocked, I am swept from the room and presented once again to the ballroom. I put the same old smile on my face and scan the area. Blasius positions himself at the edge of the room, still wearing his headset. Hydra vanishes amongst the crowd, giving me a wide berth. Lucilla is stood by the punch-bowl, her eyes already trained on me.

As I walk over to her groups of people faun over me, draping their arms over me, wishing me happy birthday, marvelling over something I have supposedly done. I had always enjoyed the attention in the Capitol- thrived on it after the starvation of kindness back home but now… Now I want to push them away, to scream at them to get off me, to leave me alone- tell them I am not who they think I am. Tell them that I am just some kid from District 4.

"Finnick!" Lucillia's face lights up when she sees me. She clutches hold of my arm, gripping it impossibly tight. I spend the evening at her side, somehow supressing my urge to throw up. I play my part well- sometimes to the level of ridiculousness. It is funny the effect Blasius' gaze has on my behaviour. I let my shallow, stupid self take over, depending on his charm to see me through.

When Lucilla wants to leave it is Blasius who drives us to Parade Street. I watch his cold eyes in the mirror the whole way as Lucilla whispers obscene things in my ear.

The apartment is large and luxurious and the bed is humongous. She leaves me a moment so she can 'freshen up' and I try to prepare myself, piece by piece. As I remove my shoes I think of my parents. I must keep them safe. I must keep them alive. For once I am going to think of them first, and by thinking of them, I am saving myself. I know I could never survive without them, without my father's strength, my mother's compassion. I have to do this. By the time I am removing my socks I have pushed them down into a secret place inside myself- a place I don't plan to revisit until this is over. One by one I begin to close down the hatches, to cordon off every part of me that I don't want broken by this. I must return to the same Finnick who killed in the arena. He is the only way of surviving this. The minute I begin to feel this is the minute it will destroy me.

When Lucilla returns it is him who is completely in control, laying naked on his side waiting for her. She advances, kissing my neck hungrily, her hands wandering across my body, breaking down all the invisible barriers no one has crossed before.

I told myself I wouldn't feel anything if he took control but it's not true.

My body works on autopilot, finding foreign ways to perform, but my mind struggles with this new unity. The two sides are still too close, they can still communicate, still feel each other's horror like monozygotic twins fighting to split into two people in the womb. The act with Lucilla feels like being awake through surgery as someone fiddles and invades my body as I watch, unable to react. My guts being waved maliciously in front of my eyes.

I had always thought love and sex to be one and the same thing but I soon learn they are very different. Whereas my body can have sex with Lucille, never having to fake a single moment, there is no way that I can even pretend to love her. What is more, no one is asking me to. This isn't about feelings; this is about me being the Capitol's plaything.

My body involuntarily expels the last of my innocence and I roll away from her, staring emptily at the ceiling.

"Well that was fun," she giggles.

She leaves within an hour, setting a pair of gold earrings at my side on the bed. She must know I get nothing out of this- she must know what she has just done. Maybe she even feels a little guilty.

I can no longer keep hold of the stronger part of myself. Sweat-soaked and distraught the other guy bursts forth, too exposed by my nakedness. It's all too raw, too real. I push the earrings off the bed. I don't want to see her trinkets- I don't want to be reminded of her.

My skin is covered in my shame and my anger and my disgust. I want to peel it all away and start all over again. To emerge like a reptile from the debauchery of my former self but I can't shed my skin- I can't get rid of the scum. I will never be clean now. Not now I have sold myself this way. No matter what I do now I have no way of going back. I am stuck with him now. I had thought I might be able to push the killer in me away- let him lie dormant in a hidden corner of myself but there is no way I can do that now. Not when I need him to survive. I cannot face this head on. I'm not strong enough.

Slowly it all begins to seep in. The magnitude of what has just happened. I thought I had been safe. I thought nothing could touch me once I was out of the arena but this is just another reminder that the games are never over, that they will never be done with me.

I can't stay here; I can't sleep in this bed- not now. I have nowhere to go but I would rather walk the streets than stay here. There is nowhere to escape to now. All my escape mechanisms have been used against me- the posing, the pouting, the kisses- I didn't want them to look at me and now they never will. The act is all they shall ever see. I am not hidden. I'm lost.

I put on my clothes, piece by piece. It covers me like armour, giving me strength to go beyond these walls, to walk away. The darkness begins to slip away leaving me just as I am; small, weak, alone and dirty.

_I am safe, my parents are safe, everything is going to be alright. Everything is going to be alright_.


	31. Chapter 31

As I walk into the lobby I see a crowd of people packed tightly around the television screen. I rush across to join them, pushing a few people aside to get closer to the front. "What's going on?" I ask no one in particular.

There is a reporter stood in the city circle in front a backdrop of flames. People are running everywhere, pushing up against the barriers. The side of one of the buildings has been blasted away revealing crumbing floors, a family staring nervously downward. A banner across the bottom of the screen says that a bomb went off in the crowd at the opening ceremonies, killing and injuring several people. I choose to ignore the smaller headline that follows- _Finnick Odair spotted with yet another woman from the Capitol_- _Can no-one satisfy his appetite? What is it about Capitol women that makes them so alluring? _It seems ridiculous at a time like this.

I wonder who set off the bomb- whoever it was obviously meant to kill a lot of people. The flames aren't far from the mansion- no doubt a lot of influential people would have been watching from such a prime position.

Rescue teams are closing in now, directing people out of the way. The camera swoops across to show the gathered tributes and mentors as they watch in alarm. Mags is there with her arms wrapped protectively around the two tributes from 4. They all look scared but unharmed.

"Hey, shouldn't you be there?" one of the men says, turning to me.

"I think you have me confused with someone else," I tell him, wishing the floor would swallow me up. This is the last place I want to get recognised at. I can see the headlines tomorrow- Finnick Odair spotted at downtown hotel.

He squints at me as I head for the elevator but I don't slow down enough for him to get a good look before I slip inside and the doors close.

Part of me wants to go to the city circle to see how everyone is doing, but I know I can't just abandon my job. To walk away now to aid one devastating catastrophe would only lead to another, more personal, catastrophe.

As the lights in the elevator move upwards I talk myself into my persona. I never quite know what to expect, can never quite be fully prepared for what is going to happen. I thought it would get easier and sometimes I can disappear enough that it is but other times it hits me worse than it did before, tears away another apart of me. I wonder how much of me still lives and breathes and how much is now just an object for them to play with. Man, woman, old, young, it could be anyone waiting for me tonight. Their only request was that I come discreetly. Who knows, maybe I will get lucky and they will be so interested in the news that they won't want to play. _Who am I kidding?_ _Since when have the odds been in my favour?_

The elevator doors open. Someone is sat in a chair, a wine glass in hand, their legs casually draped over the arm, their skin a very familiar pearly blue.

"Hydra?" I didn't think she would ever have the nerve… I can feel my mask slipping. How am I supposed to pretend when she knows the truth? She will see right through me.

She unfolds her legs and gets to her feet. She grabs another wine glass and hands it to me. "Relax, Finnick, I just want to talk."

"I think I'll pass, then, thanks." I turn back towards the elevator, slamming the wine glass down as I walk away.

"Then I'll tell Blasius I didn't enjoy your company."

I slowly turn back towards her. So this is how she is going to play it. I don't know what else I expected.

"It would be a shame, wouldn't it?"

I hear a discreet cough from the adjoining room. A large man nervously moves forward to stand in the doorway. He eyes me curiously, not taking his gaze off me even when he addresses Hydra. It crosses my mind that he is intimidated but I push the thought aside- it seems so ridiculous.

"Fifteen dead, incalculable injuries," There is sweat on his brow. He looks very agitated reporting this news.

"Thank you, Plutarch," Hydra says.

She leads the way into the next room where a huge television sits on the wall, the volume turned down but the banner at the bottom confirms what Plutarch just said. I follow her, waiting to hear what she could possibly have to say to me. Waiting to hear it only so I can leave. I need to get back to Mags and the tributes.

"I'm not interested in anything you want to tell me," I tell her, "You set me up."

"I had no choice."

"You should have done something." _Anything. _

"They would have me killed," she counters.

"I don't know how you can live with yourself."

We let it hang uncomfortably in the air.

Plutarch pulls out a Rubik's cube from his pocket and begins idly twisting it, keeping one eye on the television screen. His focus never seems to remain in one place at a time- he is always balancing different components at the same time.

I still want to leave. I would already be gone if I had any choice in the matter. Gone before the anger takes over me and I can no longer contain it.

Hydra clicks her tongue. "What's the main difference between you and Plutarch?"

I look at Plutarch. He is older than me- bigger. He has that Capitol look about him where it is obvious he has never missed a single meal in his life. Just superficial things. We are both men. Both human. The same.

_I want to go home. Just let me go home. _

But as I watch him fiddle with the Rubik's cube I begin realise what Hydra really means, what the real difference is between us. If he wanted to leave here then he could. He can come and go as he pleases with little consequence whereas I am stuck here- leaving this apartment is not an option, going back to District 4 at this time- unthinkable.

I don't know what his job is here in the Capitol but suppose he misses a day off work- maybe he drank a bit too much the night before or just doesn't fancy the strain- all it would take is a phone call, a few faked coughs and no one would bat an eyelid- I have seen hundreds of party-goers pull that trick after staying up the whole night indulging themselves. Back home if someone misses a day off work they have peacekeepers hammering on their door demanding an explanation- a fake cough, if not convincing enough, could lead to serious repercussions.

In the Capitol a job seems a frivolous sort of thing- another accessory to help show the world exactly who they are. They have a choice. They have universities and colleges and talks about different careers. In District 4 you are a fisherman or you load crates, or make nets, or build boats. Maybe, if you are lucky, you might have a trade- a baker, a surgeon, a tailor, a teacher. Mostly people grow up to do exactly as their father did before them. There is no choice.

Then there's the Hunger Games. I grew up with a father so afraid of losing me to the Hunger Games that we spent hours in training together, preparing on the off-chance that my name could be pulled from the reaping bowl. Plutarch grew up knowing he could never be chosen. Safe In the knowledge that he will only ever be a mere spectator to the misery.

The difference is not just between Plutarch and me but between all the people of the Capitol and all those in the Districts. In the Capitol there is freedom and maybe that is what attracted me to it before- the endless possibilities, the chance to choose exactly who you are. In the Districts most will die just as they were born, serving the Capitol.

I love the sea- the smell of it, the way the light catches it, its tempestuous rages, its power, its calm. I love it. I think I would have loved it anyway, even if I had the choice, but it would have been nice not to have been raised to love it like all the people in 4. To be able to form my own opinion. Even my opinions are manufactured by the Capitol.

"I'm a slave," I finally tell her. I always knew it but putting it into words and saying them out loud gives it greater prominence somehow. It's a terrible thought. I don't feel as though I am worth any less than them but it is clear that, in the eyes of the state, my life, and the life of those like me, means very little.

"Precisely," Hydra says.

"Is this meant to justify this? Does it make you feel better?" I ask her. "Have you any idea of what it is like to be sold?"

She doesn't even have the decency to drop her gaze. Only Plutarch has the good grace to look uncomfortable. He has completed one side of his Rubik's cube, putting all the little green squares into neat rows. Looking down on it you might think he has finished but the moment he turns it even the smallest amount it is possible to see that the rest of the cube is in chaos.

"I think you've misunderstood my purposes," Hydra says. "I am not here to offer you an apology. I am here with a proposition."

A proposition. A job. They are the same. She is just the same.

"Have I ever told you what my job is?"

"You work for Snow," I spit at her. No further explanation necessary.

"I do, but I never explained what that entails. It is my job to monitor all the victors during the time they spend at home in their districts. This is easy with the more recent victors. When the tracking device was removed from your arm after the arena a trace was left behind. This, along with devises positioned around District 4, enables me to keep an eye on your day to day whereabouts. There are cameras- microphones, spies- through these means it is easy to put together an accurate account of your time at home."

"But… why? Surely you have better things to do than find out exactly how many hours I spend in front of the mirror. "

"Victors are influential. You have been hailed as the strongest; it would only be natural that you would be seen as leaders- that people look to you for how to behave. President Snow wants to be sure that all victors are setting a good example."

"Is this supposed to scare me?"

"I'm just telling you the facts."

"President Snow has nothing to worry about with me, though; I don't set an example to anyone. I'm just a boy that nobody likes."

"Just a boy with a strange, magnetic power that can hypnotise with a single look," she studies me thoughtfully. There is not the hunger I often see in the eyes of Capitol women but an unfathomable sense of satisfaction.

"I think you have me confused with someone else."

"There is a reason why I sponsored you in the arena. I knew from the moment I saw you that you would be the one to help me."

"Help you with that?"

Slowly, ever so slowly, she turns towards the television set. I once again take in the devastation. The scared faces. The curious eyes. The rugged ruins. The area is beginning to be cleared out now. The injured driven away in ambulances while the fire department continues to put out the flames.

They are interviewing a man- some politician in a lavender wig. The interviewer asks him who he thought set off the bomb. He blusters around his answer for a while before naming the Praetorians. I have never heard the name before but then I guess Capitol politics have never been something widely broadcast in the districts.

Plutarch triumphantly throws the completed Rubik's cube down on the table, folding his arms across his chest, grunting appreciatively.

It hits me, even before she actually says it. The whole reason she has brought me here tonight. It is written in the strange determined smile that creeps across her face. It is written is the way Plutarch nervously reaches for his handkerchief. Shown in the way her eyes meticulously weigh me up.

"To overthrow the government." These treasonous words drip from her tongue like honey. She nervously bites on her bottom lip, "What do you think?"


	32. Chapter 32

_What do I think? _

The names of the dead are being flashed across the screen. I think of their families watching it. Think of their reactions. That must be the absolute worst way to find out someone you love is dead. It's so disrespectful. They play replays of the explosion as a commentator talks through the events in great detail. It's just like the games. Have the people of the Capitol become so desensitised to violence that even the deaths of their own kind fails to move them? In many ways it seems that Hydra is just giving them a taste of their own medicine. But the cost of it- fifteen dead. Maybe more. This should matter more to everyone then it seems to.

"You did that?" I nod towards the screen. "You killed those people?"

"Regrettably," Hydra says. "We didn't have any choice."

"What was it supposed to achieve?" Is it even possible to overthrow the government with bombs and devastation? I don't see how that changes anything. Only one death could really bring about chance and who is to say that he wouldn't simply be replaced by someone just as bad?

"Hopefully it got Snow's attention… at least." Hydra says.

"I find smiles to be a more effective way of getting attention than killing. You are more likely to survive it."

Plutarch looks up. "To find fault is easy, to do better difficult. If you think you can smile at President Snow and have him change his policy then, by all means…" he bows sarcastically at me but his tone is not cruel, there is still some honesty in it. He is actually listening to me, at least.

"Does Snow even know why you did this?"

"Oh yes," says Plutarch, "We wrote him a letter."

"I didn't know about it until it was too late," Hydra interjects defensively. "One of the other prefects thought it was time we took action so told the President he should either cancel the games or face retribution. When he refused we had no choice but to respond. It has been a long time since the Praetorians were taken seriously. We had to show that we really mean to make a difference. They would have seen it in the districts too. Can you imagine? A whole nation witnessing such open defiance?"

I try to imagine what it would have been like back in District 4. To see the bomb explode in the crowd. Everyone gathered tightly together in the square seeing the flames engulfing the building just before the transmission cut out. Just a snapshot of rebellion. Is that snapshot enough to breed more? I doubt it. There are the peacekeepers to consider, the lack of organisation, the fear. We are all slaves. We hate it but in many ways we don't know how else to behave. When I picture District 4 witnessing the attack the only real reaction I can imagine is shock. 67 years of oppression is enough to take the bite out of any nation.

How is this supposed to change anything?

"You are just sending Snow an invitation to kill you," I tell them. The moment you pull a weapon you are giving everyone permission to kill you. It's like the games. The Career alliance will hold just fine until someone turns a weapon on another member of the group. That's when the alliance is over. There is no trust after that.

"So sweet that you should care," Hydra simpers.

"Why do you?"

"Care?" She quickly sobers.

"Yes. Why do you care what happens in the districts?" I don't see why anyone born in the Capitol should give a rat's arse what the people in the districts have to go through. Why should they? It is easy for them. Easy to just turn away and pretend it's not happening.

Hydra's mouth tightens. "It's hard not to care once you've been there." She leans over her shoulder, "Plutarch, I think I'm going to need another drink." She throws herself back down in her chair with a slump. "I suppose I ought to explain, maybe it will help you to understand."

Plutarch brings her a drink and she sips at it thoughtfully, clearly trying to find the right words. "Everyone is so sheltered in the Capitol. I know I was. It's easy not to think about where things come from, easy to forget the less fortunate. I didn't even begin to consider it until I came face to face with it. I became the escort for the District 6 tributes when I was twenty. My father pulled a few strings with some influential friends and got me the job. I was so excited- the glamour, the excitement- everyone was going to see me broadcast across the nation. All my friends were going to be so jealous.

"What I didn't expect was the dirt; the crowds of emaciated bodies, the addicts slumped in the gutters. It is a whole district laid to waste. In my naivety I thought I could help them- at least the tributes that passed through my hands- but the more I tried the worse it became. You must know what it is like from your time as a mentor. I was an escort for six years and the work slowly became completely soul destroying. I couldn't sleep for weeks before the games and when they started it was even worse. I couldn't watch- I became disgusted with it all.

"The last time I went to District 6 was the worst. I had a few hours to spare before the reaping so I decided I would go for a walk. I had some bread I had smuggled from the train that I could hand out. I reached the outskirts of town on a particularly dirty street where a mophling addict lay slumped against some rubbish bags, completely dead to the world.

"I didn't notice the girl at first. It was only when I heard the rustle of the bags that I noticed her sifting through the rubbish. When I approached her with the bread she looked at me quizzically through her bulging brown eyes. It was as if she didn't understand kindness at all. She didn't seem to understand that I wanted her to have it. I had to force it into her hands before she greedily began to devour it.

"She told me her name was Lak and that she was eleven years old- though she looked much younger. I asked her where her parents were but she didn't seem to understand what I meant. You should have seen her. So small, so young, so completely alone. I thought I had seen it all before but there was just something about that little girl which stuck in my mind.

"I knew nobody wanted her- she just screamed of neglect. I thought it would be easy to bring her back with me but they wouldn't let her on the train. When I got home I must have asked about a hundred people how I could get her to the Capitol. Most of them laughed in my face. I asked my father but he forced me to leave my job as an escort and move into the surveillance branch of the Games. He said it was bad for my mental health. That I had been working too hard. That I had become confused by it all. Still I couldn't get Lak out of my mind.

"It must have been about a year later. I had gone down every possible avenue to try and bring Lak to the Capitol but it was useless. No one was prepared to help me. It was so frustrating. In the end I stormed into Snow's office and asked for his help. He was in the middle of some meeting with the Head Gamemaker but I seemed to capture his attention. He promised me he would try to help, try and set things right and I believed him. I actually went home thinking that I would be able to make a difference- that I could give Lak the life she had never had.

"Three weeks later and she was reaped. Another week and she was dead in the bloodbath. President Snow came to me and explained why it was better this way, why the people in the districts and the people in the Capitol are not the same. I nodded and thanked him for helping me come to my senses but I knew I could never forgive him. Soon after I was approached by the Praetorians and here we are. Once you find out what it is like in the Districts it is difficult to support Snow. If more people knew about it in the Capitol it would be very difficult for him to stay in power"

"An imbalance between the rich and the poor is said to be the most fatal weakness in any republic. The problem is those with power chose to ignore it and those without lack the means," Plutarch says sagely.

"What about you Plutarch? Why did you get involved?" I ask him.

"It just bothered me, I suppose. No one could give me a good enough reason why the districts should serve the Capitol as they do. They all just told me it's the way it is. Or they would mention the Dark Days. Nothing was satisfactory so I decided there was no good reason and that something ought to be done about it. I sought out the Praetorians and insisted they let me join."

They were both so assured. Their minds completely made up. They make revolution sound like the most natural thing in the world.

Hydra takes another sip of her drink and Plutarch switches the channel on the television but no matter which one he turns to they all show the after effects of the bomb just angled in slightly different ways. He tutts making comments to himself like, 'Well I wouldn't have done it like that' or, 'incompetent berk'.

I turn back to Hydra. "And now you want me to… what exactly?"

"Join us. You have more than enough cause to want to overthrow Snow, after all. The Praetorians want to defy government in a way that hasn't been done in almost fifty years. We hope to completely change the face of Panem. The problem is all of us have to remain relatively low-profile to be the mind of the revolution and, as a result, the revolution has been left without a face to lead it."

She is looking intently on me now. "So you want to use this face?" I ask her.

"Young, beautiful- what better face to inspire a revolution?"

"A face to launch a thousand ships!" Plutarch adds.

I don't feel like a freedom fighter. I don't feel like I could convince anyone to start a revolution. I don't even know if I want one. Surely that can only mean more deaths, more misery, more heartache?

I try to imagine a world without Snow, without the games, without clients but my mind draws a blank. I don't know what that would be like. There are too many possibilities. One thing I do know, however, is that it will be better. Anything must be better than this.

I turn it over in my head and their words slowly begin to sink in amid a backdrop of flames, a small girl staring up at me, Plutarch's Rubik's cube twisting around and around. Revolution. It's a big word. Impossibly big. The number of people involved- the number of lives lost and changed. The number of ideas buzzing in people's minds- traitorous ideas, dangerous ideas, liberating ideas. The more I think of it the smaller I begin to feel. The more impossible it all seems. How am I meant to inspire a revolution? What is it that Hydra has seen in me that she thinks could light a spark big enough to bring down a government?

"What can I do?"

"Nothing, at least not yet. But when the time comes I have no doubt that you are going to be at the heart of it. The storm is coming, Finnick, and you have a choice on how you weather it. You can either take up arms against it or sit by and watch, either way you could be dashed on the rocks but it is your choice if you become a victim or a hero."

Part of me leaps on the word- _hero. _It's so bright, so beautiful, so noble. I want that, I think. I want to be a hero. It would somehow make up for it all. Maybe people would start to forgive me.

But only if it goes right. Only if I can make it work. There is so much responsibility that would be resting in my hands. There is a reason heroes are so celebrated and a reason why I am loathed by everyone at home. I am not a hero. There is no way I can do this. It is just too big. There is too much to worry about already. Too many secrets pulling me in all directions. I will never be able to tell anyone back home about what the Capitol has done to me. I can never show the people of the Capitol how I really feel. I no longer have any idea of where I belong or what I am supposed to do. Yet here Hydra is telling me my purpose is to lead some revolution. How am I ever meant to do that?

"How do you know it is going to work?"

"We don't, but we are working on it. We will find a way. Even if it takes us another fifty years."

I am not the boy she thinks I am. I am not brave enough. I am just fragments of someone who wasn't even that remarkable to begin with. There is no way I can do this. It is too much. Too big.

"What if I refuse?" I ask her.

"Then you are free to go."

I nod. "Goodnight, Hydra," I say. "I wish I could be who you want me to be."

And I walk away. Just like that I turn my back on freedom, on change, on a chance to fight for everything I believe in. Maybe one day I will return to them but right now I am too busy fighting for myself to fight for anything else.


	33. Chapter 33

Only two of them left now. Cashmere's younger brother Gloss- a slightly sour looking seventeen year old who has killed half the tributes in the arena and Fergus whom Mags has managed to keep alive in my absence. The tricky thing is that both of them seem to genuinely like each other, working as a deadly team to take out their opponents: Fergus trapping them in nets so Gloss can move in for the kill. Now, as the last hovercraft vanishes into the gloomy sky taking with it the body of their last victim, they are left alone. I am surprised they kept the alliance up for this long, most people would have parted ways a long time ago but there is something that seems to keep these two together. Something that means they couldn't quite say goodbye. There is nothing we can do for Fergus now. Nothing but to sit and watch and hope.

Inside our control room it is silent. All the mentors have gathered to watch the final moments of the games. Out the corner of my eye I see Cashemere. She is clutching onto the seat of her chair as she wills Gloss to attack. She tries to fight back her tears, to keep some semblance of control but she can't do it. I can't imagine how terrible it would be to sit in this room and have to watch someone you love go through the games. I don't think I could do it.

"What should we do now?" Fergus asks, gripping his sword desperately.

"We could wait and see who lasts the longest?" Gloss replies. Both of them are wounded but not in a way that would kill them. If they sit and wait now they will be waiting for starvation. There is no way the Gamemakers will allow that to happen.

Fergus shakes his head- he knows it is useless. "No point," he says.

"At least that way we won't have to choose," Gloss says.

"I don't think I could stand it," Fergus says, "Waiting around for them to give us an answer. I say we play a game to decide."

"What kind of game?"

Fergus holds his fist out in front of him, "Rock, paper, scissors."

"That's really how you want to decide?" Gloss asks, turning his nose up at it.

"It's better than just waiting."

Mags grabs my hand as the two tributes put down their weapons and hold out their hands in front of them. They really are going to do this, then, gamble their lives on a game of rock paper scissors?

"Have you ever seen it done before?" I ask her quietly.

Mags shakes her head. "Never."

Cashmere closes her eyes as the boys do the countdown.

"One, Two, Three…" both choose rock.

So they do it again. "One, Two, Three…" Again, both choose rock. They laugh about it, their voices wavering.

We are all sat on the edge of our seats now- as the whole of Panem must be. This can't go on much longer. Sooner or later a decision is going to have to be made and one of them will be forced to kill the other.

They both look nervous now, unable to hide it any longer. "One more time, yeah?" Fergus says.

Gloss can only nod in reply.

"One, Two, Three…" Gloss chooses Paper. Fergus chooses scissors… Fergus has won.

"No!" Cashmere calls out, reaching out towards her screen as if she is trying to pull Gloss to safety. Enobaria shoots Mags and I a dirty look as she puts her arms around Cashemere, as if this was our fault, as if we had somehow rigged fate to make sure that Fergus won.

This is the power of the games. Although we are united in our fear and sadness, all the districts are still against each other. We forced to compete against the people who should be our natural allies. It makes it easy to forget that we are all the same. Whoever thought it up certainly knew what they were doing.

"I guess it's decided," Gloss says and he drops to his knees, turning his back on Fergus. "Do it quickly."

Fergus takes his sword in hand but doesn't move.

"Do it," Gloss insists, "Get it over with."

Fergus shakes his head, "I can't."

"You must. It's our only way of getting out of here on our terms."

Fergus takes in a deep breath then forces himself to charge. Gloss sits perfectly still, his head tilted slightly to the side, listening to his death as it approaches. It is only at the very last moment that I see the dagger that he picks up out of the grass. The District 2 tribute must have dropped it when they killed her. I wonder if he knew it was there all along.

I can hardly stand to watch. It is all over. Before Fergus even has a chance to swing his sword Gloss drives the dagger into his chest and pushes him to the ground. It is the element of surprise which did it. Fergus truly thought Gloss was at his mercy. He failed to remember one of the simplest rules of the Games- trust no one. Not even your best friend.

I take off my headphones and hang them over the side of our station and slowly get to my feet. Only two of us heading back on the train again.

On the large screen Gloss is trying his best to look victorious. He pumps his fists and shouts out celebratory cheers but tears are rolling down his face- tears that no amount of bluffing is going to hide. He really did care for Fergus but I guess survival is always going to win over friendship.

Cashmere, to her credit, doesn't celebrate but sits quietly at her station, gathering up the pieces of paper which she has shredded in the last hour. Bullion, who had been watching from the corner, goes across to Cashmere and pulls her to her feet. "Come on," he says, "We need to be ready for when he wakes up."

The pair leave, Cashmere giving me an apologetic shrug. I am about to leave as well when Mags grabs my arm. "Don't forget this," she pushes my token into my hands.

I turn it over in my fingers. The many headed Hydra. Hydra: It is such a perfect name for a spy.

Tonight is my last chance to change my mind before we return home. I could find Hydra and tell her that I do want to make a difference. Tell her that the Games have reminded me of why Snow needs to lose his power. That I am ready to be the hero people want me to be. I really want to be able to say yes- yes, I will help with the revolution, yes I will put down my life for the greater good, yes I am brave. But still I can't.

I throw my token back down. What use do I have for it now?

As all the mentors filter out, Haymitch pats me on the back as he passes. I'm surprised he even bothered to return to the control room. "Bad luck," he says, "But look on the bright side, at least you won't have to return to the Capitol for a whole year."

There is something about the way he says it that makes my stomach knot. _He knows. He has to. _He wouldn't have said it otherwise. How many other people know about Blasius and the women from the Capitol? My cheeks begin to burn and my anger rises.

"What did you say?" I ask him.

"I bet you're glad to be leaving the Capitol," his tone is light but it is clear what he means, clear that he is shoving it in my face. He thinks he is so much better than me. I move in front of him, blocking the doorway. There are only three of us left in the control room now. He steps back away from me, "Easy now, wouldn't want to spoil that pretty face."

"You should keep your nose out of other people's business," I tell him. "It's got nothing to do with you."

"I'm just trying to go home," he tells me. He makes a move towards the doorway but I'm still blocking the way. I want Haymitch to feel sorry for what he's said. I want him to see that I'm not just some kid he can push around.

"Finnick, let him go," Mags tells me.

"Who is he to say that to me? As if I'm just some…He doesn't understand. He doesn't know what it's like."

"No, I don't," he says. The flatness of his voice infuriates me more. He disgusts me. The stink of liquor, his apathy towards his tributes, his stupid jeering face.

"I have to keep them safe!" I shout at him. How can he possibly understand that when he doesn't even try to keep his tributes safe- his one purpose in life and he doesn't even bother with it. "It is the only way." I am beginning to sound unhinged but I can no longer reign it in. I can only watch as a version of myself continues to yell. "They'll kill them otherwise!"

"I know." Haymitch says quietly. "I just wish I'd had the chance to protect those I loved."

It takes a moment for his words to sink in.

So that's it, is it, I think. It is not just the Games which turned Haymitch Abernathy to drink. It was more than that. A much bigger void for him to fill.

My cheeks still burn, this time with a different kind of embarrassment.

"I shouldn't have said anything," he says, "I should go."

I slide out the way of the door, happy to see him leave. I shouldn't have lost it like that. I was just so surprised that he knew. I couldn't bear to tell anyone what they had forced me into. Not even Cashmere who I know has experienced the same thing. Not even Mags. I have spent the whole time pretending I would still rather go to parties than mentor in the games. I guess it was stupid to think she believed me. It seems everyone knows my business, or has guessed. How many other victors have been forced into the same fate?

"Mags…?" I turn to her slowly. "Does everyone know?"

She nods.

"Does it… happen often?"

"To anyone who is considered desirable. I'm sorry," she says, "We should have found another way of keeping you alive- one that didn't so inevitably set you up for this. Or maybe I should have warned you. I'm sorry." She says again, "I didn't know how to tell you. All those parties…."

"It's not your fault," I tell her, "I don't think I would have listened anyway."

Cashmere had tried to talk to me about it. I knew it was happening. I just chose to ignore the signs. If I hadn't spent so much time in the Capitol then maybe things would have been different.

I understand why Hydra couldn't help me. If she had she would have compromised everything. Hopefully this rebellion will help everyone, even if I can't be a part of it.

"And you know it wasn't your fault either, don't you? You haven't done anything wrong."

I can't help but laugh at that. "How can you say I've done nothing wrong when I killed all those people?"

"Well it doesn't mean you deserve this."

"It's not like I can do anything about it- it's the only way I can keep them alive." I think of what Haymitch said. "At least I am able to protect them. They killed his family, didn't they?"

Mags doesn't reply but I can tell I am right. It is just too unspeakable for her to say.

"Try not to let it consume you. It would be so easy to grow so hardened and numb to it that you can no longer appreciate all the good things. I don't want that for you, Finnick. You deserve so much more than that."

"I'll try." I tell her, "I'll try and find a way."

It is hard to imagine how parts of me aren't going to be completely consumed. I have closed off so much hurt and anger that I can almost believe it's the bigger part of me now. I try to remember the boy from the square who winked at Maeve Colligan just to see her face. The boy who would spend a whole day at the beach diving in and out of the water. The boy who found it fun to spear fish with a trident and wage pretend wars on the golden sands. That is where I am going to find my strength. That is the time to go back to. I am never going to find that boy here in the Capitol. Such innocence, such calm, can only be found in the brilliant waters of District 4.

I offer my arm to Mags, "I think the press are looking for one last photo and I know this time they are going to see me with the best girl on my arm."

Together we head out of the control room towards the exit. For the first time in a while I can't wait to get home.


	34. Chapter 34

Annie won't look at me. Even when I talk directly to her she doesn't look up from her sewing. I wonder if I have somehow done something to offend her but considering I have only been back home for one day it seems unlikely.

Suddenly the face of the last girl tribute flashes in my mind. She must have been about fifteen. What if Annie was friends with her and blames me for not bringing her back? I should have done more this year. I should have been around when they needed me. I didn't even see when she died.

I want to ask her if this is true because I can't afford to lose any more friends but Eoghan continues to witter on about girls and I don't know how to interrupt him.

"How'd you do it? Get all those women to-"

I shrug, "It's different in the Capitol."

"Can you take me with you next time?" he asks eagerly.

"I hope not." The only way he would ever be able to come with me is if he competed in the Games and I am not willing to consider that an option.

His face drops, "I didn't mean it like that. Just… you know, on a social visit."

"I thought you liked Tessa."

"It's no good liking someone who doesn't even know you exist."

Suddenly Annie is on her feet. She throws the shirt she was mending to the ground and rushes inside the house, slamming the door abruptly behind her.

"What's up with her?" I ask.

Eoghan shrugs, "I dunno. Girl stuff?"

"Do you think it was something I did?"

He laughs. "_Everything_ is because of something you did."

"No, seriously."

"How do I know?"

"Well was she angry before I got here?"

"Hey Annie!" Eoghan shouts at the house, "Were you mad before Finnick got here?" He waits a moment, holding a cupped hand to his ear for dramatic effect, "No answer." He shrugs again, "So, is your father still up for taking us fishing?"

"Probably," I say as I get to my feet. I know Eoghan expects me to stay outside with him but I have to know what is going on with Annie. "I'll be right back."

A quick glance round the house and it is clear that she must have gone to the very small storeroom at the back of the house. It used to hold bait boxes but it was converted into a bedroom for Annie when she became too old to share the front room with Eoghan. The only actual bedroom in the house is in the attic and belongs to Mr Cresta. It is a tight squeeze for the three of them in the little hut but Mr Cresta has refused to take up any other accommodation. It is as if he still hopes that Annie and Eoghan are just visiting.

I know the Cresta's home better than I know my own but I never even considered going into Annie's room. There is some sort of unspoken barrier that always prevents me from crossing the threshold. Perhaps it was Mr Cresta telling me and Eoghan that we had to leave Annie alone that summer when we had teased her to tears or maybe it is just the strange mystery that I have always associated with women's bedrooms that has always prevented me from stepping any further.

I knock on the door.

"I'm not going. I'd rather just stay here," she calls through the door.

"Annie?" I push open the door- just enough for me to peer inside. She is sat on a woven mat on the floor, twisting her necklace between her fingers. "Annie are you OK?"

"Fine," she says. It is the same kind of short, icy answer that she always gives me since I got back.

I step through the door, breaking down the barrier. The room really is very small. There is only just enough space for the mat, which must be her bed, and a small set of drawers. I have more space in my wardrobe back home. The wallpaper is peeling off the walls and is covered in scribbles and doodles and various scraps of paper that she has pinned up.

"Why aren't you outside with Eoghan?" she asks.

"I just… I wanted to check you are OK. You seemed sort of angry."

"I'm not angry. I just, wanted some time alone."

Is that a hint for me to leave? Did I do the wrong thing by coming in here? "Did I do something wrong?"

She doesn't look at me.

"I went to some more parties." Maybe that will catch her attention. "I could show you some of the dancing, if you wanted."

"I don't want to dance."

"But before you…" I don't understand what's going on. What have I done wrong? "Is it…" I can't even remember the name of the girl anymore. "Is this about the Games?"

"You should just go outside with Eoghan." She stands and goes over to the window, perching on the sill as she stares out.

"It is, isn't it?" I go to join her at the window. Outside the sun has created a haziness that makes the scrub of grass and sand look somewhat dreamlike. "I know I should have done more but once they are in the arena… there is only so much I can do."

"I know you did your best," she says.

She is impossibly difficult to read. Everything is hidden away where I can't see it. She is often described as _thoughtful,_ as if she has more thoughts than the rest of us. Maybe she does. Eoghan will always telleveryone exactly what he is thinking- it is his way of making sense of the situation but Annie always has to work it out in her mind first.

"Then what is it?"

She shakes her head again.

"I'm not leaving until you tell me what I've done wrong."

"You haven't done anything wrong."

"Then come back outside."

"I don't want to."

"Fine." If she won't tell me then there is nothing I can do about it. I go to the door and pull it open. Maybe things will be better tomorrow. Maybe she is just having a bad day.

"I hope you enjoyed yourself in the Capitol." Bam! It hits me squarely across the chest. So that's what it's all about. The women. The parties. She doesn't approve.

"It was…" _horrific, soul destroying, terrible, frightening, sad, gutting, maddening, awful, forced, dangerous, guilt inducing, lonely _"OK."

She wrinkles her nose. Disgusted.

I want to tell her the truth. To justify what happened somehow. I hate the look in her eyes. I am just some teenage boy who can't keep it in his pants. A teenage slave to hormonal impulses. Base. Depraved. Would she look at me that way if she knew the truth?

"You didn't love them."

"No."

"Then why did you do it?"

_Because I had no choice. _"It seemed like a good idea at the time."

She turns back to the window. "I see." Judging. Still judging. This is worse than Eoghan's cringe-worthy enthusiasm. This is worse than any joke.

"Why do you care so much?"

Her chin drops downwards and her long hair falls across her face. "I don't."

"Then don't make me feel bad about it."

"Well you should. You're just messing with people's feelings. Those women…" She actually has tears in her eyes. Tears for the women who bought my body.

"Annie…" I edge towards her, daring to put a hand on her shoulder but she shrugs me off.

"Don't. "

"I'm sorry." I should leave. It is clear she doesn't want me here.

"Why didn't you just stay in the Capitol? Why did you have to come back here?" She is so upset. I don't know why she is so upset.

"This is my home."

"I could have forgotten about you if you'd stayed."

"Annie…?"

Slowly she looks up, her eyes meeting mine and I understand. I understand everything. She isn't upset because I left those other women she is upset because there are other women. She's jealous. Annie. Jealous.

What am I meant to do about that? She is my friend. She's just a child. She's Annie… And I… My eyes are still locked on hers. She gets to her feet, standing uncomfortably close. I can smell the comforting scent of sea salt on her skin. She moves her head towards mine. Her eyes close. She is getting closer and closer...

I take a step back. "Look, Annie… I don't think…"

"I like you, Finnick," she whispers it so quietly. It is as if she is ashamed of it.

My heart sinks. This can't be happening. Not Annie. Anyone but Annie. I look at her, trying to think of something to say.

She takes another step towards me. She is such a child. So innocent. So young. She has had no reason to grow up. She will never understand.

She must see the confusion on my face because she says, "You don't have to feel the same way." Still she is advancing. What does she think she is doing?

"Annie…" She presses herself against my chest. I can't stand it. I can't stand feeling the pressure of her body against mine. Can't stand feeling her breath on my neck. It is too much. It is all too much. This isn't her. She doesn't want this. I don't want this. I push her aside, a little more forcibly than I intended. "Annie stop it."

She falls against the windowsill, clutching at the wall for support. Hurt is in her eyes. It is written all over her. "I thought you'd want this."

"I never want this- not from you- not ever. We can never be together, you understand? You're just a child"

"I'm fifteen."

"I don't love you. You deserve to be with someone who loves you, someone who can look after you. And that's not me. It can never be me, do you understand? "

She is red in the face. There is anger and upset and I know I am tearing her apart but I have to do it because she has to know. I can't love anyone. There is not enough of me left to feel love. They have taken that from me. That's what I am most ashamed of. I have nothing to offer a girl from District 4. I am broken. She deserves someone a hundred times better than me. She has to know this, even if she never speaks to me again. Even if I have to lose a friend. If it is going to protect her then it is the right thing to do.

"Get out!" she screams. "Get out and leave me alone!" Her screams turn into tears.

You have really done it this time, Finnick, I think.

"What's going on?" Eoghan opens the door just as Annie throws a glass towards me. I duck and it smashes against the wall.

"I think I need to go," I say. I push past Eoghan and storm through the house and out the front door. I can hear him chasing after me.

"What happened?"

"You should go to Annie," I tell him.

He rushes to catch up with me. "What happened?"

"I'd rather not talk about it. I had to do it, though, and I'm sorry. I really am." I don't want to lose Eoghan as a friend as well. It's not like I have hoards of people queuing up for that position. "I'll see you, tomorrow, all right?"

"Don't worry, mate," Eoghan says, "I know Annie's crazy. I'll sort it out." He slaps me on the back and heads back towards the house. I keep walking, unable to stop.

All I wanted was to recapture some piece of my childhood- to find a place untouched by all the darkness that surrounds me but even that is impossible. I ruin everything. How can it ever be the three of us again? How is she ever going to forgive me when I don't have a way of making her understand? I can't tell her the truth. I can't tell anyone.


	35. Chapter 35

Annie catches my eye, just for a moment, before she turns away. I wish she would look at me longer. Long enough for me to smile at her.

"Do you want me to take that?" I ask, reaching towards the picnic basket in her hand.

"I'm fine," she says. "It's not heavy." It is clear she is straining under the weight of it but I know better than to force it off her. As soon as Eoghan returns with three bread rolls he throws them into the basket and takes it from her. He is the bridge between us that enables us to co-exist. Without him there would just be a chasm.

"I think we should head down to the beach now," he says.

We weave through the people in the square. I catch quick glimpses of busy faces. A woman smiles at me- actually smiles. Others pass me by just as they do with everyone else. No whispers, no glares, no need to watch my back. Maybe I am beginning to fit in again. Everything here is so real. It makes a nice change from the Capitol.

Eoghan and Annie have just stepped out of the square when I notice the flutter of a curtain in the window of the old shop that housed Mr O'Brien's printing press. People used to pop in and out with items for the newspaper but now people walk by without even looking at it. I guess he still lives there, even though his business is long gone. I remember what Jeannie told me about the codes hidden in the Chronicle. I wonder if he is also linked to the Praetorians.

"Fin?" Eoghan nudges my arm.

"Sorry. I just need to…" I look towards the shop, curiosity getting the better of me.

"It's alright, I get it, that's another cue for you to disappear somewhere on some mission you're never going to tell me about. But you know, it's cool. At least I get to pretend my best friend is a spy."

"Thanks. I'll catch up with you later."

"Try not to get yourself killed, alright?"

"I don't make promises I can't keep."

I duck around a group of women who are noisily discussing the price of cotton and head towards the shop. I don't exactly know what I want to say to Mr O'Brien, or how I am going to convince him to listen to me. I just know that I have to speak to him. Maybe it's the rebellion or maybe it's just that I really want to start fitting in again and I can't do that while someone still thinks of me as a murderer. I don't know, I just need to do it.

He doesn't answer the door, even after I have knocked loudly three times, but when I try the handle it is unlocked so I force my way inside.

"Mr O'Brien?" I trample over the discarded pages that cover the floor, inching around the trashed printing press that fills most of the room.

"What are you doing here?"

Finally I see him. He is hunched on the floor in the corner surrounded by bundles of old newspapers. The long billowing curtain hangs down by his side, sitting on his shoulder like a pale pink ghost. As I move closer the stench of unclean socks and stale urine clings to my nostrils.

"I just want to talk to you," I tell him. I hold back slightly, lingering by the printing press. I try not to look at him too closely, somehow it would seem indecent. I approach him as I would some kind of wild animal- with caution and great care. I half expect him to leap on top of me, teeth bared.

"What's there to say?" he says. He doesn't move, just sits there, as still as stone.

_Nothing. Nothing to say. _"I'm sorry about what happened." I meant the press but Jeannie lingers between every word.

"Does saying it make you feel better?"

"No."

"It won't. Words don't help. Believe me, I tried," he clutches at some of the papers on the floor and I see that he has scribbled all over them in a miniature scrawl. He balls them up in his fists and throws them towards me but they fall short before they hit me. "But I guess that's why you are here: to make yourself feel better."

"Not really. I just…" It is impossible to find the right words to say. The room is too full of stale air and Jeannie's spirit stretches a gulf between us. I wish there was something comforting that I could say to him- something that might make her death a little easier but there is nothing. I am not going to pretend that it is alright.

My hand rests on the cool metal of the press. "I miss her," I tell him.

"You murdered her," He still doesn't move.

"I know." I won't lessen the crime by saying they made me do it. I won't try and defend myself by saying I regret it, that I'm sorry. It is unforgiveable so there is no point in begging him for forgiveness.

Looking around the room it is clear that I didn't just take his daughter from him but everything. The whole house is broken down. The printing press has stopped. The walls smell of damp and decay. Everything is just waiting to crumble into dust, including Mr O'Brien.

I don't know what I expected to find here. Maybe I just needed to confirm the extent of my destruction.

"You should get up," I tell him. At least that way we could talk on the same level.

He shakes his head, "Can't. Seized up." He pulls on the curtain trying to get up. It flutters by the window, just as I saw it do from the outside. "Arthritis."

"I could help you."

"I don't need help from _you_. Dorrie will be here later."

"I could help you now."

"No."

"OK." I get the impression that he wants to sit there in pain. That he welcomes feeling dreadful because he feels he should, because it would be wrong to feel anything else, even though two years have passed. I know that feeling. Sometimes it is harder to try and fight it and feel happy then it is to just give in to it all.

I sit down next to him on the floor, pushing papers out of the way. He looks at me in disgust but I still want to talk to him. I'm still not quite satisfied.

"The printing press-it's broken isn't it?"

"They took that first," he says.

"Couldn't you fix it?"

"Not me." His whole body slants away from me. It is as far away as he can get considering his restrictions. "It's just junk now. Scrap metal. Worthless."

That's what they do. The Capitol keep you until you are no longer of use, until you refuse to function as part of their machine then they scrap you and make sure you will never be of use to anyone. Right now I'm still useful to them but that can only ever last so long. Looking at Mr O'Brien and looking at the other victors, the way these rebels and killers are treated doesn't seem so very different now.

"All this- everything that happened. It was because of the rebellion, wasn't it?"

He snorts bitterly, "It was because I didn't know a good thing when I had it."

"But you must have believed in it, otherwise why did you bother?"

"What does that matter now?" The bite is back in his voice. Maybe I should go. It is clear he doesn't want me here. Yet he is the only person I know in District 4 who has some link to the rebellion and no matter how I try I can't help but think about it. What it means. There is someone on our side. There is someone who is trying to make a difference.

"Well, if this is all you are doing- wallowing in it all- then you have let them win and it was all for nothing."

"I haven't the will, the energy or the means for it anymore. And I don't see what this has to do with you anyway." He picks up another piece of discarded paper and studies it closely, muttering to himself. "It didn't work, anyway."

"What didn't?"

"We thought if we could have communication between districts then we might be able to build up a resistance. That's what the Chronicle was about. It wasn't just the words in the paper, either; it was making it- paper from 7, power from 5, transported on freight trains from 6. I would order leather stationary from 10, stone tablets from 2, fancy electronic editing equipment from 3- any excuse for information to be legitimately passed from one place to another. The Capitol thought it would be beneficial to have a district newspaper where they could pass on snippets of propaganda separate from Capitol news broadcasts. At first they underestimated its potential but they realised their mistake and that was it. Resistance over."

"What about the Praetorians?"

"The Praetorians?"

"Yeah, what about their resistance?"

"Well I don't know where you heard about them but I would have thought the Praetorians were long gone."

"What do you mean?"

"Snow destroyed them when he came to power. That's how he came to power. He was one of them."

The words take a moment to sink in. "Snow was part of the rebellion?"

"In name, in action maybe, but I doubt he actually believed in any of it. It was just a way of gaining control."

"What else do you know about the praetorians?"

"They started during the Dark Days as a group of Capitol citizens who sided with the Districts and they have provided opposition to Capitol politics ever since. I don't know much about the inner working of the group but I heard that Snow was relatively high up at a time when the Praetorians were gaining power and support. Somehow he convinced them to elect him as their leader then, as soon as they had overthrown the current government and Snow had control, he had every known member executed, their bases burnt. Basically he destroyed anyone who could oppose him. They disappeared after that. Never seen or heard of again."

So the Praetorians have more than a desire to change Capitol politics they have a personal grudge against Snow.

"But the newsreader in the Capitol said they were back."

He shrugs, "Maybe they are. Doesn't change anything."

"Don't you want to do something to help?"

"I'm no help to anybody. Now I would rather you just went. I'm sick of talking."

I pick up another piece of paper. Take in more snippets. Angry words. Goodbyes. Traitorous ideas. All of them are here on the floor.

"Leave them alone, they're no good now." He bats the paper out my hand. "Doesn't help anything."

"I write poetry. It helps me make sense of things. Sometimes I need to see things written down."

"What do you want? A medal?" he sneers.

"Jeannie said you like to write too."

Another snort.

"I just thought-"

"I'd rather you left now."

So I scramble to my feet. As soon as I reach the other side of the printing press I scoop up a bundle of the pages from the floor and stuff them into my pocket. There must be a way I can help him- a way to make sense of what has happened to him. Maybe I can find a way of reaching him. It is my best way of trying to atone for what I have done.

It isn't until I get home that evening that I have a chance to read the pages. They are all just jottings, scrawls, random messages to himself- nothing coherent. Mostly they speak of Jeannie and snippets of heartache and his loss. Sometimes it is just a single word. Other times he has written long complicated rambles that loop endlessly. It all reads like a collection of troubled thoughts. There is so many confusions and contradictions but as I read them they slowly begin to slot together and form some kind of meaning for me.

_I know you are in the next room, sat cross-legged in the chair_

_But when I stumble over the threshold, you aren't there._

_You are in the pile of school work that sits on the floor by your bed_

_You are in the memories we shared, the words I never said. _

_I thought it would be you, casting your childhood out to sea_

_And embracing all those adult things. But instead that's left to me._

_Except your little fingers are still wrapped around my thumb_

_And to the rhythm of my old life I simply can't succumb_

_My little girl won't leave me now to find adventures new_

_And though I could go anywhere I'd rather stay with you. _

_Perhaps it is a blessing that you did not survive_

_For I see more of you dead, then I ever did alive_

Maybe he will hate it, maybe he will be angry that I took the pages from his floor but I doubt I can sink much lower in his estimations. The next day I slip my own paper under his door and run away before he can yell at me.


	36. Chapter 36

He slumps down over the table, his hand still gripping his wine glass. Gently I shake his shoulders but he doesn't wake. He certainly won't miss my company so I get up from my seat and make my way across the dance floor. People flutter to my side so I greet them with a kind word, a joke, a burst of laughter, a smile- the same old dull routine, the same insincerity. I walk beyond it all heading for a table on the far side of the room.

Johanna Mason, the newest victor, sits alone at her table. Maybe it is her winning personality or maybe it's because I am too much of an attraction but she has mostly been left alone all night- at her own victory dinner.

I had been impressed by her in the games- her act had even fooled me at first- but as the games drew on snippets of her true self began to show through- the strength she really possessed, her humour, all the chinks in her armour. I found myself hoping she would win so I could meet her because her lies reflect my own. Both of us have to hide who we truly are in order to survive. Maybe she will understand.

"I reckon us actors should stick together," I say, pulling up a chair to join her at the table.

"You? An actor?" she scoffs.

I lean right in towards her ear, "Yeah," I whisper, "I'm not really this pretty- it's just an act."

"See, that's funny," she says, "I thought you were playing the part of a brainless moron."

I can't help but laugh, she looks so serious. "You want to dance?"

"No, I think I've had enough of creeps for tonight, thanks." Something about the way she says it makes alarm bells ring in my head. Out the corner of my vision I see Blasius stood against the wall, watching us. He is looking particularly annoyed tonight. I hope I haven't done something to displease him. He doesn't usually shadow me anymore, not now he knows I will get on with my job. So if he is here that can only mean one thing…

"What did you say to him?"

She shrinks back slightly but when she speaks her voice has grown tougher, more aggressive than before, "I told him he could go to hell and you can do the same."

She turns away from me. I lean in again, I want her to know that I understand. "See that guy over there," I tell her, nodding towards the passed-out drunk who is still sprawled across the table, "That's my date for tonight."

"Great. Go screw your corpse then."

That wasn't really the reaction I was expecting. I thought we might be able to bond over the experience but I guess Johanna Mason isn't the bonding type.

I get to my feet. "Fine. Whatever. I'm Finnick by the way."

I am halfway across the room when she calls to me, "Hey, Odair, you want to ditch this party?"

I look across to the guy I am supposed to be escorting tonight. He may be dead to the world but I doubt I can just abandon him without facing some sort of consequence.

"We can bring him with us," Johanna says, "Why not- he'd probably kill for a two-for-one. You got somewhere you're meant to take him?"

"Yeah. You got a car waiting for you?"

"Car, mentors, escort- don't worry, though, I can ditch them just like I can ditch this party."

"Alright," I say. "I'll meet you outside in five minutes."

I go back to my table and awkwardly lift the man's head. He gains some consciousness and I manage to persuade him to get to his feet. I tell him that we are going home. Half dozing, he mutters something about the Games, and then collapses his full weight onto my shoulders. I drag him to the elevator and we go down to the ground floor and out to the front of the building.

Johanna is waiting for us, leant against a limousine, two drinks in her hands- fussy cocktails in blue and green. "Thought we might like something for the ride."

She opens the door and I shove the guy inside, sliding across the seat after him. Johanna squeezes in on the end, struggling to shut the car door while holding the drinks. I reach into the guy's jacket pocket for his wallet so I can read off the address for the driver.

Johanna hands me the green drink and I sip the toxic liquid. It burns all the way down my throat.

"So what's the name of this douche?" she asks.

I look in the wallet again. "Drusus Blume"

"Blooming drunk, more like." She cackles, taking a huge gulp of her drink. "So how many times do they make you do this?" It is such a casual question. It almost makes the whole situation feel normal.

I shrug. "As many as they can."

"You must be great in bed."

"I wouldn't know. My mind checks out when my body checks in."

"Always?"

"Always."

She laughs again. "You should try doing it for fun sometime. Maybe you'd appreciate it a bit more."

She presses buttons all over the car until she finds the one for the sunroof. When it's open she stands up, sticking her head out into the night, cheering loudly to anyone that will listen. I begin to wonder if Johanna Mason is completely sane.

"Come on!" she says, grabbing hold of my hand.

"I can't," I say, "Someone will see." That's the last thing I want- more news stories, more speculation about my love life. It is good to escape it all for a bit.

She slumps down on the seat next to me. "Why'd you choose this?" She picks up one of Drusus' arms and lets in flop down onto his chest in disgust. He is middle-aged and paunchy. Probably a business man. I know the type- too engrossed in work to look for love, likes the status of being seen with a victor, and desperately needs the relief of a sexual encounter, even if he has to pay for it. I'd guess he has never done this before and that's why he got so nervous that he drunk himself into oblivion.

"They were going to kill my family if I didn't."

She bites her lip. Has she got family too? Did she sign a death sentence by saying no to Blasius?

The car pulls up outside a tall set of apartments. Johanna whistles as she looks up at it. "Looks like Drusus is doing alright for himself."

She helps me drag him out the car and the guard opens the door for us. The apartment is 11C. I have been to enough Capitol buildings to know this will be on the 11th floor so I drag Drusus towards the elevator and Johanna slips in after us.

I don't know exactly what we are going to do when we reach the apartment. Put Drusus to bed, I guess. But then what? Johanna must have had some idea when she asked me if I wanted to leave the party with her. I think of the two cocktails. Maybe she intends for us to drink ourselves silly. I don't know. I haven't got her figured out yet. I can hardly believe I have come here with her. I don't even know her, not really, although I've spent the last few weeks watching her on a television screen.

When we reach the apartment I take the key from Drusus' pocket and hand it to Johanna so she can open the door while I support Drusus. Once inside it only takes a second to see that the place is large, decadent and ridiculous. Everything a home in the Capitol should be. I carry him through to the bedroom and throw him down on the bed. He lands face down, his arms and legs splayed at awkward angles.

"What now?" I ask, looking at Johanna.

"We should at least make it look as though he got what he paid for," she crawls across the bed and starts removing his clothes.

"Johanna!" I hiss.

"Finnick!" she says back, mocking my tone. "I'm just trying to keep you out of trouble."

She takes off his jacket, then his tie, his shirt, then his socks, his trousers, everything right down to his underwear. I turn towards the door, half expecting someone to come in and tell us off. But, of course, no one does.

She wrinkles her nose, "Wow, you're lucky you got out of this one." She throws a blanket over the top of him then begins roaming round the room. She grabs a box of tissues from a side table and begins scrunching them up and throwing them around like confetti. "Got to make it look realistic." She blows her nose on a couple and tucks them inside the bed. Something about this makes my skin crawl. It is just so blatant. She has absolutely no embarrassment. "There!" she says happily, throwing her arms open to present me with her masterpiece. "Now let's have some fun."

She clicks a switch and some music begins to blare out of hidden speakers. My eyes dart towards the bed. "What if he wakes up?"

"Then we'll give him another drink."

She sings along to the music and hops around the room, moving items from off the shelves, tossing them carelessly at the walls. She throws open the wardrobe and plucks bizarre outfits from the rails, wrapping them around her shoulders. She chucks a shiny dressing gown in my direction. "Put that on!"

"But-"

"Christ Finnick, at least try and have some fun for a change."

Maybe she's right. Maybe I have been taking things too seriously. I slip off my shirt and put the robe on over my bare chest. I wrap the tie around my head and wear it as a band doing some prattish moves along to the music. I don't really feel like I'm having fun yet but at least I'm getting into the spirit of it. Johanna puts on a military jacket over her dress and sits a hat with dog's ears on top of her head, the ears hanging down her front.

She runs over to me, flouncing her arms all around her. "Tonight, Finnick, I am going to make you look simply gorgeous!" She pushes me into a chair and begins smearing powders and creams over my face. She moves my body into strange positions and makes comments about my face being too symmetrical to be considered beautiful and that sea green eyes were _sooo_ last season! I instantly recognise the prep teams of the Hunger Games and I play along by twisting my face into bizarre shapes while she marvels at her fantastic work. "I'm a genius!" she declares, pulling me to my feet and forcing me to spin around. I raise my arms above my head, as I have seen some of the girls do, and coo over how clever she is.

She grabs the front of my dressing gown, pulling me towards her, "Want another drink?" she asks.

"Sure."

She releases my gown and we chase each other into the kitchen, laughing like maniacs. We begin raiding Drusus' cupboards until we find the liquor. Johanna fills two tumblers with alcohol and shoves one into my chest with such force half of it spills all over me.

We lay spread out on the sofas, sipping at our drinks and telling ridiculous stories. I tell her about the time a sea turtle swam off with my hat. The clock says it's 3am but I don't even feel tired. Maybe the tablets still haven't worn off after mentoring in the games or maybe it's just because I know that if I give in to tiredness this night will come to an end and I will have to go back to normality.

"That was quite the stunt you pulled in the arena," I tell her.

"They were just brainless."

"It took some guts."

"No guts, no glory." She says. "It's hard to leave that behind, to be honest. I still haven't adjusted back to the real world. Guess that jerk found that out the hard way," she holds her fist in her hand rubbing her reddened knuckles soothingly. No wonder Blasius was looking so unimpressed earlier. I make a mental note never to get on the wrong side of Johanna Mason.

She slides off her sofa and scoots up next to me, her shoulder pushed against mine. She pours some of her drink into my glass and I gulp it down.

"What's Drusus going to think when he wakes up?" I ask.

"Hopefully that the pair of you had a great night."

"I'm glad I got to spend it with you instead."

Johanna snorts, "I didn't realise you were such a woman."

"Well someone has to be," I tease her.

She turns her face towards me, her eyes searching my face for something. I can feel her breath on my cheek. "You should try doing it for fun- at least once."

Slowly, ever so slowly, she leans in and presses her lips against mine. At first I want to move away, to bolt from this all too familiar contact, but she holds me there and keeps kissing until I begin to feel it- The softness of her lips, the sensation of them moving against my own. I never wanted to feel it before and now that I do it doesn't seem so bad.

She pulls away. "You're not going to cry are you?" I think that's her way of making sure I am alright. Checking she isn't just another one of them forcing me into something I don't want to do.

I shake my head. "It's just for fun, right?" I don't want her to think it is anything more than that. It can never be more. Maybe she will show me it is alright to be with someone- that it doesn't always have to be on the Capitol's terms- but I know I will never be able to love her. I can't love anyone. I can never have something that means anything but at least this means they don't own me completely. I deserve this-a real chance of a first time- a chance to try and understand what it is really about. Anyway, it's not like I can go back to where I was before.

"Yeah." She says, "That and I'm hoping that hot bod of yours is going to help me forget the arena."

I let her guide the way. She teases me and makes light of the situation with jokes and barbs. I try my best to keep my mind in the room. I try and enjoy what is happening- the sensation of our bodies together- but I find it impossible. My mechanisms are so fine-tuned now that I can't break away from them. I act on auto-pilot, repeating the same old routines.

"You still with me?" she whispers into my ear.

"Of course," I lie. My mind doesn't need to be there for my mouth to chunter out appropriate responses to their inane questions.

I know she has done this before, her confidence betrays it. She finds her way round my body with ease. It isn't loving or soft or caring but frank and open and that is enough. It is a mutual agreement where we can both use each other for our own ends. I guess sometimes you just need to feel close to someone else.

At times my mind fades in again and I feel whispers of what is going on but it doesn't last long and the minute it is gone I question whether it actually happened. It is as if the two halves of myself are struggling to combine again. I can't let that happen, though, not really. I depend upon them being separate to help me cope.

I get through it, though, and the main thing is, despite not really being there, when it is over I don't feel ashamed of it, or embarrassed, or hurt. If anything, things feel a little lighter.

I slump back on the sofa watching as Johanna pulls her clothes back on. "Don't think of me," she tells me, "I won't be thinking of you. And if you do I am going to kick your arse!" She sticks her tongue out at me and heads for the door.

"Don't you want my number?" I ask her.

"Please, like I would ever phone you. The only reason anyone has for chatting to you is so they can have a good gawp at you."

I smile. Well it's certainly true in the Capitol.

"Stop smiling like that," she says, "Anyone would think you were happy."

And she goes. That's it. No goodbye, nothing.

I stay on the sofa for a while trying to collect my thoughts but when the clock strikes four thirty I know I had better be heading off. I put on my trousers, socks and shoes then head into the bedroom to retrieve my shirt. Drusus is still fast asleep. His room looks a state but I can't be bothered to straighten it. Hopefully he would just think it was part of the party. If only he knew.

It is almost another half an hour before I get home and when I do the phone is ringing.

"Hello?"

"Finnick? It's Hydra. I really need you to do me a favour." She sounds worried.

"What is it?"

"If anyone asks, I was with you tonight. OK?"

"OK."

Then she hangs up the phone.


	37. Chapter 37

The knock on the door seems very polite- two neat little raps. I tip the remains of my glass of water into the sink. My head throbs as I go to the door and groggily try to unhook the latch, my fingers feeling large and uncoordinated. I should not have drunk those cocktails last night. I should have just gone home and got some sleep.

As I open the door Hydra pushes past me so quickly you would have thought mutts were on her tail. She darts around my apartment moving from room to room like a tornado. "Are you alone?" she asks me, her voice barely a whisper.

"No, you're here."

She rolls her eyes then rushes into my bedroom. She pulls the sheets on the bed back, spoiling my undisturbed bed. She starts unbuttoning her dress then she turns to me. "Take off your clothes and climb into bed."

"Nice to see you too…"

"There isn't time," she barks.

I know better than to wait for an explanation so I begin taking off my clothes as instructed, throwing them haphazardly onto the floor just as she is doing with her own. What is going on? First the phone call and now this? What if she actually wants us to have sex? _I can't do that_, my mind screams. _I can't do that. _No, that can't be it. This is to do with the rebellion.

"Where did you go last night?" she asks. "I was looking for you."

"I went back to that guy's place." _And spent the night with Johanna Mason. I had sex with Johanna Mason. _I cringe, it sounds so sleazy.

"I'd made an arrangement with Snow last week that I would spend the night with you after the victory dinner. Drusus was just starters. I outbid him." _What is she talking about? Is this all part of some bigger plan? It is clear I am her alibi but her alibi for what? _She rubs her hair so it looks big and matted then smears her lipstick across her face.

"No one told me."

She clambers into bed, pulling the sheets up as if she had been sleeping. Part of me wonders if the bluish tint to her skin will stain. I crawl in after her and allow her to attack my hair in the same way she attacked her own. Bed hair. It is meant to look as though we have been asleep. I hope they don't look too closely at the dark circles under my eyes.

"I met up with you at 1am, understand? That's when my car drove us here. When did you leave Drusus' place?"

"About half four."

"Did anyone see you leave?"

"Drusus was out of it." I don't mention Johanna. I don't want her involved in this too.

"What about outside?" She sounds so urgent. This must be important. Maybe even life or death. I desperately try to remember. I try to picture what it was like outside the building but all I can remember is the smile on my face and the warm glow of the streetlamps.

"I don't know. What's going on?"

"It's better if you don't know."

As if on cue, someone thumps at the door. She pushes me towards the edge of the bed. "Answer it," she hisses. She lays down on the bed, pretending to be asleep, her arms stretched above her head.

I grab my dressing gown from the hook on the wall. I have no idea what I am going to find at the door but I try to act casual. I need to slow down my pace, let the weariness I felt before Hydra arrived take over me. As I open the door my mouth stretches into a yawn. I try to train my thoughts- _I know nothing, I have just woken up and I know nothing. _

A man and a woman stand in my doorway, both dressed in black.

"Do you know where Hydra is?" The woman asks. I can sense her looking me up and down, taking in every inch of my exposed body. I have to resist the urge to pull my dressing gown closed but I don't want to appear uncomfortable. I don't want them to think I have something to hide.

"Too easy- sleeping in my bed. Next question?"

"I think you have better let us in," the man says, resting his hand on the door so I can't close it while his colleague steps by me into my apartment.

"Sure, make yourselves at home," I say as the man pushes past me as well. I yawn again, this time I don't even have to pretend.

They sniff around the apartment like a pair of bloodhounds until they close in on the bedroom. "Here she is," the woman says. The pair of them stand in the doorway, blocking me from getting by. "I think the two of you had better come with us."

They don't even give us a chance to get dressed. Hydra slips on her coat as we leave and I tie my dressing gown up but even these small things have to be done on the move. The man powerfully stands at my side, watching me closely all the way down in the elevator.

"Where do we have to go?"

"I am not at liberty to tell you that."

"How long will it take? I have to catch a train in a couple of hours."

He doesn't answer me. The pair of us are herded into the back of a car with darkened windows and taken to an unspecified location.

I don't dare to catch Hydra's eye in case it gives something away. My mind is racing with the things I should say and the things I shouldn't say. Is this what it feels like to be a spy, caught in a web of secrets? If this is about the rebellion it is important. If they find Hydra guilty of treason will they kill me too? Do they think I am part of the rebellion?

For the third time in my life I am faced with a life or death situation but this is not like the arena. Give me a knife and I know what to do with it, give me a trident and I will show you exactly how good I can be, give me words to fight with and I will stumble. Every, single time. My father never trained me for this.

They half drag me into a large grey skyscraper and leave me to sit in a waiting room while Hydra is led to another part of the building. The chairs are hard and uncomfortable. There are no pictures on the walls, no magazines to read, no television to watch. There is nothing but a receptionist sat behind an eerily empty desk. This is not what I expected. Where are the closed cells, the torture chamber, the thuggish guards?

As I wait I try to piece together my story. I left the party with Johanna Mason and Drusus- plenty of people saw me do that. Then I met Hydra around one. But where- she never specified. Was it planned? What is it that she needs to hide? There are too many unanswered questions and loop-holes and gaps. They are never going to believe me. Not in a million years. I should have taken this a bit more seriously. I should have asked Hydra more questions, except there wasn't time.

The receptionist approaches me coyly, her handbag clasped in her hands, "Excuse me," she says.

"Yes?"

"Would you sign this for me?" She holds the handbag out in front of my nose and a pen in her other hand. "The girls simply won't believe I've met you."

Personally I wouldn't call staring at someone from across the room meeting them but never mind. I scribble a vague F onto the bag. I've never stopped to figure out a signature. It never really seemed important.

"Thanks!" she squeaks and shuffles back to her place.

A few minutes later the man approaches me. "Follow me," he says gruffly. He takes me into a small stuffy office that is decorated in peach. Where are the black walls? The white noise? The light shining in my face? Even the interrogation rooms in the Capitol have been disguised in a strange powdery haze of soft materials and pastel colours. I sit in another uncomfortable chair while he sits on the edge of the desk, leaning over me.

"We just have a few questions for you."

"Actually I have a question for you. Is it usual for people to be only partially dressed in your office or is that just me?"

His thin lips curl, "That pleasure is all yours. Now, Mr Odair, Could you give your account of the events of last night?"

So I tell him everything I figured out in the waiting room, adding a few embellishments here and there. I try to gloss over some of the things I don't know by simply moving on to the things I do but I don't think it is working. He can probably see right through me.

As I speak he writes notes on a tiny notepad. I can see some of the words as he writes them but I try to pretend I'm not looking. He pointedly circles the times I indicated- I suppose because they need to be compared with whatever information Hydra has already given them.

"And could anyone else confirm these details?" he asks me when I have finished.

"A whole hall full of people saw me and Johanna leave the party."

"And was anyone else there when you met Hydra at… two in the morning was it?"

"One," I tell him pointedly. I am not going to let him catch me out that easily. "And no, no one else saw us."

"Not Johanna or Drusus Blume?"

"No. This was after I left his apartment."

He sighs somewhat wearily and gets to his feet so he can pace up and down around the office, his shoes leaving a trail of mud on the fluffy peach carpet. He turns onto a new page in his notebook.

"How would you describe your relationship with Hydra?"

"I have known her for about three years. She bought me my trident in the Games and now I occasionally see her for… in my work for President Snow." I can feel my cheeks begin to burn.

"So, would you call her your friend?"

_Yes? … No? _If I say she is my friend then he'll think I am lying for her but if I say she isn't then it could bring up all sorts of questions about why we've spent so much time together. I doubt he will believe it all was on President Snow's bidding.

"Not friends," I say, "But not exactly enemies. We like to go to parties together."

"I see," he says. But I know he doesn't see at all because not even I fully understand what is happening between Hydra and me. We are not friends but we seem to be on the same side.

I glance at the clock on the wall. The train should be leaving now. Mags will be all alone. She must be so worried. I bet no one has told her about this. I wonder if they will hold the train for me or if I am stuck here.

The door to the office opens and the woman shuffles in. She nods to the man and the pair of them swap places. Unlike the man the woman pulls up another chair next to mine, obviously attempting a softer approach.

"Would you like something to drink?"

I shake my head, "No thanks."

She begins by going over the same questions the man asked me. Her notebook sits in her lap but she doesn't make any notes. I try to get a look at what is written on the top page whilst trying to keep my answers straight in my mind but she asks questions so quickly that I find it hard to keep up. When I have finished she turns to me.

"We know you are lying," she says.

"What?"

"You're not that good an actor." Her tone is still soft, conversational, as though we are two friends chatting in a coffee house. I suppose it is meant to put me at ease, to loosen my tongue just enough for me to slip up.

"I don't know what you are talking about."

"You are involved in all this, aren't you?"

"I don't even know what _this _is."

Her hand rests on my forearm, gently stroking it. "Tell me, what do you think of President Snow?"

I shrug, "I've never really met the guy." I am about to pull my arm away but then I have another idea.

I turn my body towards her and lean in slightly, close enough for my breath to fall on her cheek. She falters mid-question, struggling to keep track of her thoughts. I loosen my robe slightly, letting it fall open across my chest. Capitol women love this sort of thing. When you are bought up to believe everything relies upon appearances you are easily distracted by beautiful things. Back home they would probably just laugh at me.

"But what do you think of…"

"You have really beautiful eyes," I purr into her ear.

I can visibly see shivers running down her spine. She tries to regain her composure but she makes the mistake of looking up, straight into my eyes. I wink at her. Her hands shuffle frantically through her papers but she doesn't turn away from me. I've just got to keep it up a little longer- just until I can get out of here.

"Look," I tell her, still keeping my voice soft and seductive the way some of the women try to simper at me on the nights we spend together, "I'm finding it really difficult concentrate with you here. Why don't we call it a day?"

The redness of her cheeks spreads right round to her ears, "I have a few more things I have to ask…" She shuffles through some pages but seems to lose her train of thought again.

I sweep the notebook from off her lap and put it onto the desk out of reach. This is it, the final test. Hydra once told me I had a power to lead people because of the way I look, if that is true then I should be able to negotiate my way out of here.

I take hold of both her hands and pull her to her feet. "I would love to stay here with you but I'm meant to be heading home today. I don't know any more than what I have already told you. I don't know what this is about but know I am not your man. There is nothing to gain by keeping me here." I lean in towards her again, "not if you want to keep it professional, anyway."

"All right." There is a sense of resolution to her voice, "You are free to go."

It works. She was right. Maybe looking like this does have its uses.


	38. Chapter 38

_She dances on the sand, the moonlight in her hair_

_And a band of fireflies is swirling in the air_

_Her green eyes sparkle with her smile_

_And as I sit-_

"What are you writing?" Annie leans forward trying to read what I have written but I pull my notebook in to my chest where she won't see it.

"Just a few notes." I tuck my notebook into my bag and stick my pen behind my ear. "I should go." I get to my feet, dusting the sand from off my shorts. "It's getting late, anyway."

Eoghan has invited a group of people from school down to the beach for a bonfire. Lots of the faces are familiar but so many years stretch between us that they might as well be strangers. Sometimes a comment sparks my memory and I think of something we did together as children or something from school but it's not like I know them, not really. My time with them ended the day we stood as a group of fourteens waiting to be reaped. That seems like a lifetime ago.

I can't slip back into that old role, to have the same old worries- schoolwork, crushes, the reaping. I am exempt from the reaping, I was banned from school and I don't even have the ability to love someone else. What could I possibly have to say to them? All there is left is awkward conversations about the Games or the Capitol. So I just sit at the peripherals- the ghost of the boy I should have been. If only I hadn't been reaped. If only I wasn't the Capitol's pawn. If only…

"You don't have to go," Annie tells me. She glances across to the bonfire. I guess she probably doesn't know them either and would like some company but nothing good can come of me staying.

"Yes, I do. We both know I need to. It's not fair for me to stay."

She grabs my arm, "No. You should stay." She looks into my eyes and her arm drops awkwardly, as if she suddenly has become aware of our contact. "I'd like it if you did."

I have spent a year trying to avoid Annie Cresta. I thought it would be best. I thought it would give her a chance to forget about me and move on. Of course I have still seen her, it would have been impossible to avoid her completely, but I am very conscious of what I do around her. I never mention the Capitol if I can avoid it and she seems to adopt the same tactic. Yet here she is asking me to stay.

Does she still like me?

No, of course she doesn't. She has forgotten about me. So much can happen in a year.

"All right," I say. "I guess I can stay for a bit."

"You should move closer to the fire, else you'll get cold."

She leads me towards the others. There is Arran Murphy, Delma Neville, Roisa O'Connel, Devin Omeara and Tessa Braden sat with Eoghan around the fire. They look up as we approach. I wait for someone to make a comment- perhaps joke that I have finally deigned to sit with the group or to ask where my parade of women are- but they don't.

I sit down next to Eoghan thinking that if the worst happens I can just talk to him. Annie sits across the bonfire from me so whenever I look up I can see her face engulfed in flames.

As I look around the group I notice that Arran and Roisa are holding hands, their heads tilted in towards each other. He whispers something into her ear and a magnificent sort of smile spreads across her face. It is so honest- so real. I don't really remember the last time I saw someone look so happy. Watching them makes a lump form in the back of my throat. Maybe it is because I know I will never be able to have that sort of relationship or maybe it is just because I know this is where I should have been- where I would have been had I not been reaped. Would one of these girls have been mine? If they had, no doubt I would be the one stealing kisses and holding hands- an innocent sort of love because there would be no need for anything else. Things are so much simpler here.

"Do you want a sip?" Eoghan hands me a bottle of some brown liquor.

I think of the cocktails and my tipsy night with Johanna Mason. "I'm alright, thanks. Trying to cut back." I pass the bottle on to Delma who giggles mischievously as she sips from the bottle.

Some of the group exchange glances. I wonder why but then I understand: most seventeen year olds don't have easy access to alcohol like I do. In the Capitol they seemed to think it was odd when, at fourteen, I refused alcohol. It isn't like that for all teenagers there but I suppose the Games act as a kind of coming of age ceremony and victors are treated as adults at the end of it.

"… That's a joke." I tell them, forcing myself to laugh. For one night I wish I was no different from the rest of them.

I wonder where they got the alcohol from. Maybe Eoghan stole it from Mr Cresta, it's not like he has money to buy some. Anything he earns packing fish has to be spent on food and clothes for Annie and himself. Wherever it is from, the group are clearly thrilled by the novelty of it.

I sit back and just take it all in after that, trying not to draw too much attention to myself. I attempt to imagine what it is like to be one of them but when I do I just feel old.

I find my eyes often wander back to Annie as she tells Devin about something that happened at school. The fire light flickers across her face. She looks so animated, so happy. People in the Capitol are never like this. They never stop to enjoy what they have because they are too busy wanting the next thing. They have everything. In District 4 things are so limited yet people appreciate what they have. For a moment Annie's eyes meet mine but I turn away, staring into the flames.

"Who's up for a game of truth or dare?" Roisa asks, an evil grin spreading across her face. Her suggestion is met with enthusiasm. It is just a game to them. Something fun to pass the time.

My chest tightens slightly and I can feel myself begin to sweat. I should go. I have to go. I can't do this. I have too many secrets, too many lies, too many things that I have to cover up. There is no way this game could ever end well for me. Better just to leave the rest of them to get on with it.

"I need to get going. It's already past my bedtime and I need my beauty sleep," I say as I grab my bag and get to my feet, hoping they don't see the panic in my eyes.

"You can't go now," Arran protests

All of them are looking at me. I get the impression I am breaking some unspoken rule that exists in the group. I turn to Eoghan, hoping to get some sympathy, but even he is telling me not to go. If only they knew. I can't play this game.

"What's wrong, Finnick? Scared of a bit of truth or dare?"

"I'm not scared." I'm terrified. There are so many things I don't want to discuss. There are so many things that, if shared, would completely shatter the illusion of me being normal. Yet, if I go now, I can never be like them either. I just can't win this.

"Then stay a while."

I look down the beach into the darkness. This is my chance to be the boy I should have been, even if it is just for a while.

"Come on, just stay for one turn," Eoghan says, "It won't take long."

Maybe I am being sentimental about it but I sit back down. I am owed a bit of normality. Besides, I can't fight the pressure of seven people all looking at me, all wanting me to stay. Part of me must still be like them. There must be something left.

"Right, all right then," Roisa says. "As you are so keen to leave you can go first. Finnick- truth or dare?"

That's easy. "Dare." I can't stand the truth.

"A dare. Hmmm…. I dare you to…." She pauses to think, looking slyly round the group. "I dare you to… Tell us your magic number."

"Huh?"

"How many women have you slept with?"

I can't answer that. For one thing I don't know. I don't make a point of counting. The achievement is surviving the encounter not adding a notch to my bedpost. "That's not really a dare," I tell her. "Shouldn't I take off my clothes and go swimming in the ocean, or something?"

"Come on, Fin, just spit it out," Eoghan says. He is just as curious as the rest of them. Like the alcohol I am a novelty to them.

I suppose they have seen me on the news. Heard the rumours and can't resist finding out exactly what is going on. As I look round the circle at their expectant faces my gaze fixes on Annie. Like the others she is waiting for my answer but there is more to it than that. Whatever I say it is going to hurt her. No one will believe me if I say none but if I tell them something even close to the actual number they will judge me. How can I explain to her how I can refuse her love but run off with all these other women? I can't do this to her.

Out of everyone I don't want her to know. I don't want her to think of me in that way. Maybe it is just because of what happened before- the way she looked at me that day but I don't want to do that to her again. I don't want to hurt her. It would be better if I just left her alone completely.

The fire feels ridiculously hot. The heat rises across my face. I don't know how much time I have been sat here with them looking at me but it feels like forever. What should I say? What can I say that can make things OK?

"I.. I…" I splutter, "I have to go." I grab my bag and head off without looking at any of them. If I look they might call me back or I might see the expressions on their faces.

My feet sink in the wet sand and the further I rush from the bonfire the darker it gets. The water laps at my ankles. I try to block out their calls. I don't want to hear them.

"Fin!" she calls after me. Of course she follows me. If she thinks I am hurting she will always follow me.

I run along the beach. If I run fast enough she won't be able to catch up. If I run fast enough I can leave them all behind me. I don't belong with them. I will never belong with them again.

"Fin!" she throws herself forward and the pair of us topple to the ground, falling onto the soft sand. "What are you playing at?"

It is agony to look at her. She just reminds me of all the things that I want to be but can't.

"I'm sorry. I can't stay" I push myself to my feet and continue walking.

"They were just trying to be your friends."

"Well maybe I don't need any friends."

"Fin!"

"What?" I snap at her.

The footsteps stop following me and there is a pause before she answers. "I've missed you."

I stop walking as well. "I've missed you too."

"I'm sorry I told you to leave me alone."

"I'm not. You're better off without me." This time when I walk she doesn't follow me although I desperately want her to. It is good to know Annie is behind me.


	39. Chapter 39

I should have known it would happen. From the moment she refused Blasius at her victory feast to the moment she told me about her little sister when she visited District 4 on her Victory Tour. It was only a matter of time. I wonder if she saw it coming too. Maybe I should have warned her.

It had been strange seeing her at home, introducing her to Annie. It had been like seeing the two parts of myself stood side by side; the victor- strong, callous, an actor, a survivor and the teen from District 4- naïve, straightforward, sensitive, real. The two did not sit well together. I had been worried that Johanna would say something to give me away but she never did. She had just looked at Annie and me with a strange, quizzical expression.

When we were alone again that night it had been with a morbid curiosity that I had asked her about her home life. Part of me wanted validation that I had done the right thing by taking up Blasius' offer. I wanted to know that it was all worthwhile, even if it meant hearing her pain.

She shrugged, "Things are fine but they'll be a whole lot better in a few years when I can get my sister out the community home."

They had grown up together there after their mother died. Jessie, she told me, was three years younger than her and had enough sense for the both of them. As she spoke of her sister something came over her that I had never seen before- a softness not marred with hopelessness or hidden beneath aggression.

It is at that moment that I should have warned her about what happens. She might still have had a chance to save her. Then the pair of us could have shared our misery. But I said nothing; I just stared out at the sea, watching the rolling waves in the sunlight.

I remember wondering why Jessie had been allowed to live when Blasius was going to murder my family the moment I refused. Had it all just been a bluff- a way of convincing me to do exactly what they wanted? Or perhaps it is just that they don't stoop so low as to kill children.

Of course the Capitol doesn't kill children. They kill tributes.

Even if I hadn't heard her name called in the reaping footage I would have known. Jessie was the spitting image of a young Johanna. The same wide-set eyes, the same dark hair. She didn't cry going up to the platform. There was no point- the same trick wouldn't work twice. She had to look strong. As the escort reached back into the reaping ball for the name of the boy tribute, my gaze fixed on the brief images of Johanna as she sat with the other victors. She had turned away from the crowd, her hands clenched into tight fists. I couldn't see the expression on her face but I suppose that was the idea. By the time the boy was up on the stage she looked like her usual self, only a slight tension in her arms betrayed her true feelings.

Now we have to sit and watch. The same question lingers in the air that lingers on the lips of the whole of Panem - can Johanna Mason bring her sister home? It is only a few minutes into the bloodbath when they receive their answer; No.

A chair hurtles through the air and smashes into the largest of the screens in the mentor's control room. Johanna roars like a wounded animal. Less than five minutes into the games and Jessie is gone.

Blight is on his feet trying to calm her down but she pushes him away, jabbing her elbows into his stomach. Mags gets to her feet too but I stop her before she can make a move towards Johanna. I don't want her getting caught up in Johanna's rage. I have no doubt she could talk Johanna round but right now I know Johanna won't be listening.

"No! No!" she shouts.

As she reaches for another chair I rush to her, pulling her arms behind her back so she can't do any more damage.

"Let go of me, Odair. Let go of me or I swear I will…."

She tries to free herself but I don't let her. I am bigger than her- stronger and I am not going to let her go. I drag her to the door. She doesn't need an audience for this. This is one performance best done in private.

I drag her kicking and screaming into an empty room where mentors sometimes go to relax then I let her go and she turns on me.

"You idiot, you brainless idiot!" she pounds her fists against my chest. I don't try to fend her off, not really. I just steady my stance and take it because no matter how much her punches hurt I know she is hurting a hundred times worse. Besides, I probably deserve it. I should have told her. "She's gone! She's gone!" She cries.

She falls forward onto the back on the couch, clinging to it so tightly her knuckles turn white. Throwing herself against it in frustration, she screams every profanity she can think of. Cursing the Capitol, the Games, Snow. She grabs at the cushions and throws them at the wall. Then she travels round the room like a tornado, knocking over chairs, ripping the curtains from the rails, throwing the lamps onto the floor. She thumps her head against the door, swearing each time it hits. I stand there in the middle of the room, waiting in case she needs me, waiting for the anger to die down and a sense of reason to return. I might be here a long time.

"She was all I had," she wails, finally collapsing down in a heap on the floor, her roars finally turning to tears. I let her sit there a while then I approach her.

"Jo?"

"What?" she spits through her tears.

I crouch down by her side and wrap my arms around her shoulders. I wish I knew what to say to make things better but when the Capitol finds a way to tear you to shreds there is nothing to say, nothing you could ever want to hear. Some moments just can't be faced with words. I hold her tightly against my body, smoothing her hair. I hope it makes a difference.

"Are you happy now?" she says into my chest.

"No, why would I be happy?"

"Because you're right- sodding right- I should have done it for her- I should have done everything in my power to stop this." She is angrier at herself than she will ever be at me but I'm an easier target. She pushes me aside.

"I thought I was untouchable. Immortal. No one could touch me- I was better than all of them. A victor. Untouchable. Ha!" Her fists pound the floor as her anger struggles to find an outlet. Tears still stream down her face as she gets to her feet and begins roaming round the room again, unable to settle. She paces back and forth but there is no relief to be found in it. No matter how many times she paces she can't run from it.

She thumps her fist against the wall and sobs madly. It must hurt like hell. She could have broken all the bones in her hand. She curls over, clutching at it. I dither, unsure about approaching her. Her whole body shakes with her sobs. She chokes on them, gagging. As her sobs reach a new height they crack into bitter laughter. "I suppose I am now. Nothing they can do to me now, is there!"

"No, nothing." I tell her quietly. It is all gone. This is it- the biggest fear of every victor; a fear that so often seems to become a reality.

I go to her again and she throws herself into my arms, crying against my shirt. Of all the people I never thought I would see Johanna Mason cry, not since the arena anyway. I thought it was all an act. She seemed so strong. So brave. But then it occurs to me; there is nothing brave about supressing emotions. I have cried once since leaving the arena and even then it was like drawing blood from a stone. After all this hurt and all this pain I would have hoped I was human enough to cry- to just let it go. She may have quite the bite but Johanna is more human than me.

As she calms she slowly looks up at me, pushing up onto her tiptoes she moves her face towards mine but I turn away. "No." I say. "Not like this."

"Don't worry; you won't be taking advantage of me." She leans in again.

"I said no."

But still she doesn't pull back; she wraps her arms around my back. "Come on."

"This isn't right." I pull her arms from me, pushing her gently away. She stumbles back, tripping against a chair, her face twisted in confusion. As she regains her balance, the confusion turns to anger.

"Screw you!" she shouts.

"Jo, don't be like that." I go towards her but she pushes me away. "I didn't mean to-"

"Whatever," she bites, "Leave me alone- go and shag one of your Capitol whores."

I know she is hurting but of all the things she could say this is the worst. "All right," I say, "All right." I try to hold back my own anger as I walk away. She is a lion who lashes out at the man who tries to take the thorn from her paw. I understand. It would be better if she is just left alone.

I should go back to the control room but I don't think I could face the fall out. So instead I head down the corridor thinking of finding some quiet place to rest.

I guess I'm not really thinking straight because as I walk round the corner I walk straight into Plutarch. All the papers he was carrying fly out of his hand and scatter across the floor. He kneels to try and retrieve them, pushing back the billowing sleeves of his purple robe. Purple robes?

I kneel down next to him to help pick up the papers, "You a Gamemaker now?" I ask him.

"Yes, that's right," he says, "I got a promotion this year."

I don't know whether to be pleased or disgusted. On one hand it is probably a good thing that there are rebels on the inside but on the other it seems awful that they are contributing to the yearly massacre.

"Some promotion," I say. I shove some more papers into his arms.

"Has Hydra spoken to you?" He asks, lowering his voice slightly.

"No. Should she have?"

"I think the plan is to restate our offer. You do have the perfect camera face- just something for you to mull over."

Part of me is tempted to tell him that I will help. I am angry enough for it. I have been pondering it for so long now, turning the idea over in my mind for a couple of years. I have so many reasons to say yes but one definite reason to say no and seeing what they did to Jessie today just makes it feel all the more prominent. I no longer fear for what they will do to me, they have already done so much, after all. It will either kill me or I will live through it. That's all there is. No, It is what they might do to those I love which stops me. I don't want them to suffer any more because of me.

"I think I'll give it a miss," I say. "I'm kind of busy, right now," I laugh, just in case someone is listening. That way they'll maybe think he only wants me to star in some promotional video for the Games, or for me to attend some party.

"Of course," he says, catching the implication of my comment. The Games, the women… it is a lot to think about, "One suggestion- If you know how to listen, you could learn something, even from those who talk badly. Just another thing to consider. Might be useful. I suppose you do…er… talk?"

"Of a fashion." I think of the ways my clients witter on about nothing, of the empty replies I give them. I don't know what it is he could expect me to learn from it, surely nothing more than this season's trends.

"Anyway," Plutarch says, "I had better get on." He strides away then turns back to me. "Have you lost your tributes already?"

"Not a clue."

"Good. Yes, good to see you are being a responsible mentor."

Ouch. That stings. I suppose I ought to be getting back to them or, if not, then at least head to the Agora to sweet talk some potential sponsors. Despite it being four years since my games I am still the best mentor at getting sponsors. In this time I have perfected it to an art. Sometimes I can convince them without even mentioning the tribute at all which sometimes can be a big advantage.

I turn back on myself and go in the same direction as Plutarch, back towards the Agora. He's right; I can't just abandon those two tributes because Johanna Mason got on my nerves.

As I pass the room I left Johanna in a pair of brown eyes stare out at me, watching me narrowly, but when I get closer the door closes with a soft click and she disappears again. I just hope she gets over it.


	40. Chapter 40

I pull up a stool and perch next to them at the bar. The drunk, the actress and the sex slave all sat in a neat little line. Haymitch slides a shot down the bar to me; I catch it and gulp it down letting the bitterness burn my tongue.

"I wondered when you would be joining us," he says. "Both gone, eh?"

"Yeah. The boy killed himself."

"They won't like that," Haymitch sniffs and takes another gulp of his liquor.

Of course they won't. You aren't meant to choose your death in the arena. They don't want you to live or die as yourself.

"Yeah, well, at least it's over with. I was getting bored of his whining," Johanna chips in. Her face is hard. A small collection of glasses sit by her at the bar. The pair of them must have been trying to fill the gap. I guess I might as well do the same. They are good company, at least, as neither of them expect me to be anything but myself.

Johanna suddenly turns to me. "What's been your favourite death in the Games?" It's a morbid topic, a pretty distasteful one too, but if the people of the Capitol can treat it as entertainment why shouldn't we- just for a moment- because then maybe we won't feel it, maybe we will forget that they are just children- like us.

I reach over and take another shot. "In the 61st Hunger Games- there was this guy- this deadly killer, everyone thought he was going to win. He crouched ready for his target to approach, net in hand. As soon as the other tribute was close enough he rushed off to strike and somehow managed to get caught in his own net. The other tribute- some puny thing from District 3- then finished him off with his own sword. I guess I just like the irony."

"You're sick, you know that?" Johanna tells me, "I liked it when that airhead from one seemed to think she was at some sort of social" Johanna puts on a high-pitched voice as she continues, mimicking the girl "'but I thought you liked me', 'can't we just be friends', 'stop being mean!'" It's awful but I actually find myself laughing- it's so much easier to be cruel about these things, to act like we don't care, to desensitise ourselves. Johanna laughs until tears stream down her face. "I mean, seriously… there must have been something wrong with her," she continues. She drinks another shot, clutching at her glass as though it is a newborn baby.

"How about that guy who kept walking into the force-field?" Haymitch says, "Like a bug drawn to the zapper. ZZZZPP! ZZZPP!" he too treats us to an impression, rushing towards the wall, over and over, until he falls backward, tipping his drink all over the floor.

We laugh because it makes things seem better. We laugh because then we can forget about the six remaining tributes still fighting to the death. We laugh to cover up the guilt of not being able to keep them alive.

Johanna calls for another round of drinks.

"Finnick! Finnick!" I can barely hear her above the laughter but eventually I turn round. Mags is looking paler than usual, wispier, as though her age is finally beginning to catch up with her. "You need to come with me," she says.

The smile fades from my face. "Why what's happened?"

She shakes her head, "Come on."

I stagger after her away from the bar. She leads me all the way back to the fourth floor of the Training Centre. On the way I keep asking her what it is but she just shakes her head or changes the subject. It is only when both of us are sat on the sofa that she finally begins to explain.

"There's been an accident," she says. "A fire."

I don't quite understand. No matter how I consider these words I can't make sense of them. "What do you mean?"

"They couldn't put it out- everything inside was destroyed"

It is as if something is pressing against my chest, stopping me from breathing right. "And my parents?"

Mags bows her head, "they couldn't get out in time."

_They're gone. _"But… but why? I did everything they asked me to. I thought I was keeping them safe."

"I don't know," Mags says, "Something must have gone wrong."

I have been killing myself trying to keep going, forcing myself through every ordeal and the one thing that had kept me going was knowing that they were safe. The late nights, the men, the women, the strange fetishes, the endless appetites- all of it meant nothing. It was just another game they were playing with me. Well I'm not going to play anymore.

I get to my feet. "I need to sort out a few things."

"Finnick, you should take a moment to think things through."

She tries to stop me but I'm already gone. I couldn't stay to stay there and face her sympathy, anyway, I wouldn't know what to do with that. I don't want to think about it. I don't want to spend an hour asking myself why I'm not crying, why I can feel nothing more than this weight on my chest and a drunken rage. It won't change anything anyway.

Blasius has an office in the Assembly building on the city circle. It's where all of Snow's employees congregate to carry out their dastardly business. I have only been inside once when Blasius asked me to collect a package but I made a point of remembering its location, just in case I would have reason to return. I wish I could set the whole thing ablaze and watch the whole bloody lot of them scurry from the flames like ants. Shame I haven't the spark.

Once inside I head straight for the elevator, ignoring the security guards as they try and steer me away. Nothing can stop me. As I head upwards everything I want to say to Blasius boils up inside me, frothing on the tip of my tongue. I say the same things in a hundred different ways, trying to search for the prefect phrasing. I imagine hitting him, wringing his neck, engulfing him in flames, just to show him what it is like. When I reach the fifth floor I exit the elevator and head to the end of the corridor. I don't even knock before I burst into his office.

He is sat with his feet up on the desk; a newspaper spread open in his lap- so casual considering his line of work. "Ah, Mr Odair," he says, taking his feet down from off the desk, "To what do I owe this pleasure?" he grins smarmily. How dare he, considering all the things he's done? How dare he grin?

"I quit." I tell him. "And you have no leverage left to change my mind." The alcohol still runs rampant through my veins, twisting my thoughts into wicked deeds. It would be so easy to destroy him. Fuelled as I am on misery and anger and remorse there is nothing I couldn't do. I am a man with nothing to lose and surely that must be the most dangerous thing of all.

"Whatever do you mean?" he says mockingly, not even bothering to look up. If he saw me now his mockery would die on his tongue.

"You know what I mean."

If there wasn't the desk between us then I would rip him apart. Burn his skin to a crisp. I don't know how he lives with himself. How he can sleep at night. Of all the things they have done to me this has got to be the dirtiest, the most appalling trick of the lot. My parents never hurt anyone; they didn't do a thing wrong in all their years of living. The only thing they did was have me as a son.

"I'm afraid I need you to clarify."

"You had them killed. My family." There is no quiver, no weakness in my voice- I am too numb for that- driven by the lust of revenge. "You promised you would keep them safe. You lied to me."

He laughs at that, coldly and mirthlessly. "You are such a child," he says. "Only a child believes in promises. The rest of us know they are just things we say to get what we want."

I reach across the desk and grab him by the collar of his shirt, "You'll regret this." I snarl at him, "Snow won't be happy with you for losing his most popular victor. Just think that over, you little worm. I hope he has you killed." I throw him back into his chair. "And if he doesn't, I promise I will and believe me, I keep my promises."

The grin finally drops off his face; he pushes himself back in his chair until he hits the wall. The distance is not far enough, though, I could still reach him if I wanted. "I didn't do this," he says, the fear clutching his voice.

"Try telling that to Snow."

"It's not my fault. Someone else has set this up. They want to get me fired"

"You poor thing," I tell him sarcastically.

"Maybe we can figure something out… "

"Sure, which would you prefer- a slow agonising death or-"

Frantically he reaches for the phone and begins dialling with trembling fingers. I grab the receiver from his grasp and ram it down onto the phone, stopping the call from going through.

"I think it would be better if we resolved this situation between ourselves," I tell him, sweeping the phone onto the carpet.

Moving round the desk I drag him from his chair and throw him down onto the floor. He fights against me but I'm not a little kid anymore and he can't push me around. I pin him down with my knees and throw a punch at his face. This should scare him a bit, I think, this will teach him what it is like to have everything you love threatened and taken from you. "That's for killing them!" I tell him. I hit him again and again and again. I can't stop hitting him. Each hit releases a tiny piece of my anger, lightening the load across my chest. The monster he created in me has taken over and it won't rest until we are even. He groans and cries out in agony but the monster doesn't care. It keeps going until he has lost consciousness. He falls flatly against the floor, his face mangled beyond recognition.

I raise my fist again but before I beat it into his face I catch a glimpse of myself in the reflection off the window; the callous sneer, the splatters of blood on my cheek, the coldness in my eyes. This isn't me. I actually have to do a double take. That isn't me. I see the face of a ruthless killer- somoene who kills just because he can, because he doesn't care about anything. When did I let that happen? As I stare the features soften into my own- no, not my own- the boy they made me into with the polished skin and flawless features. I don't know where I am.

I shuffle off of Blasius' limp body and collapse onto the floor. This isn't me. This isn't who they would want me to be. Besides, I don't need the monster any more. I don't need the perfect sex-god everyone falls over. I can just be plain old Finnick.

The weight on my chest is impossibly heavy now. I can't move beneath it. I can't think straight. Mags words linger in my mind. _There has been an accident. _

It doesn't feel like they are really gone. How could they be gone?

Still sprawled out on the floor I reach out to the phone and my fingers somehow find the right number. I hear the faint sound of ringing from the receiver. I guess the phone must have survived. Maybe everything is all right, after all. Maybe it is all just some trick. No one picks up. I guess my mother must be cooking dinner. My father must have fallen asleep on the sofa. Yes, that's it.

When the ringing stops the answer phone cuts in. "Hello, you have reached the Odairs," My mother's voice- chirpy and carefree. I can't help but smile. It is the same voice that told me stories as a child. "Sorry we can't come to the phone right now. We'll try to get back to you as soon as we can. Leave a message after the tone."

The electronic tone cuts her off. Desperately I call out to them. "Are you there? It's me Finnick... It's me…" my voices catches and I can't contain the weight in my chest any longer. Tears suddenly fill my eyes- tears I thought would never come and they stream down my face, "I want to go home," I tell them. Except I will never be able to now, and it's not just that it has been burnt to the ground. How am I meant to make a home without them? How am I ever going to be able to feel like I belong anywhere ever again?

The call cuts out and I am left in silence again, Blasius still passed out on the floor next to me. He's still not moving. _Oh god, what if I've killed him? _

I pull myself along the floor and dial properly this time, holding the receiver to my ear. When she answers I don't even try to hide the tears. "Hydra? I think I need help."

"Where are you?"

"In Blasius' office."

"I'll be right there. Hold on."

She must have already been in the Assembly building because she reaches me in less than five minutes. She only takes a second to assess the scene then goes straight to Blasius' side, grabbing his wrist.

"Is he-?"

"I don't know."

"I can still feel a pulse. What happened?"

"I quit," I say.

She doesn't ask me for more detail than that. She understands.

She lifts Blasius' head, "He's going to have quite the lump- with any luck he is not going to remember this."

"What if he does?"

"I'll figure something out," she says. She wraps her jacket around his head to mop up the blood and despairs at the stain on the carpet because 'nothing gets blood out'.

"Everyone saw me come in. We won't be able to hide it..."

"You were coming to see me," she says. There is no hesitation in this, no thought of the trouble it could get her in.

"Thanks."

"It's the least I can do after…" she trails off with a shrug but I know what she means. The alibi. Now it is her turn to be mine.

Once she has done all she can with Blasius she sits back on the chair and begins thumbing through the newspaper he left on the desk."Did Plutrach tell you…?" she asks.

"Yes."

"And…?"

I don't even have to think about it. The words just slip out of my mouth. "I'll do it," I tell her, as I force myself to sit up, "I've nothing to lose, after all."

She smiles sadly. "So how does it feel to finally be free?"

"I never expected it to hurt this much."

It is a new kind of emptiness. No longer numb and cold. I can feel the edges of my inner wounds. The price of freedom is a high one. One I was never willing to pay.

I flop back onto the floor, staring at the ceiling, praying this is all a dream.


	41. Chapter 41

The sun warms my body. I close my eyes, feeling the soft sway of the sea, rocking my father's boat like a mother rocks her baby. As I lie here perfectly still I hear the steady swish of the water as oars pull against it. It can only mean one thing- she's back. I don't move, though, it is peaceful here just letting time slowly pass over me.

I hear the tug of the ropes as she climbs aboard and the slap of her feet against the deck. Something thumps down by my side, what I can't tell.

"Hey Fin," she says.

I roll onto my side turning away from her. Why won't she just leave me alone? Everyone else seems to have understood that this is my sanctuary but not Annie. I was out here less than a day before she came rowing out to meet me. She asked me to come back to land, told me that Mags wants me to stay with her- that she could do with some help around the house. It all seems too normal. I don't want normal. I don't want things to just move on without them because really there should be no life without them.

"I bought you some water. You must be thirsty. You've been out in the sun all day." She pulls three bottles out of the bag and puts them within reaching distance, leaning all the way over my body so she can be sure I can see them. "And Mags sent this." She places some bread rolls and some apples and cheese down next to the water bottles.

My stomach aches with hunger but I don't want to eat. I deserve to be hungry.

"Eoghan wants to know if you can show him how to fish with a trident."

My trident was one of the few things that got pulled from the ashes. Somehow, out everything, that survived. All the family photographs got destroyed, including those of my little brother. Already I am forgetting what they looked like. Sometimes I stare at my reflection in the windows on the boat, searching for some part of myself that belonged to them but even that proves difficult. Every day I try to run through the things I remember about them, trying to keep hold of them for as long as possible.

My father was tall. Like most people in District 4 he smelt of salt and sunshine and yes, sometimes he smelt of fish. He was quick to laugh but also quick to sorrow. It was this sadness that shaped our relationship: the training, the constant vigilance, the determination that I would know how to survive. He loved long lazy Sundays, always spoke endlessly about the weather and his favourite food was my mother's stew. I can still hear the way his key used to turn in the lock when he got home from work, remember my excitement, my desperation to tell him everything I had done that day. He was a good man. He should not have died.

My mother was softer but no less determined. The home seemed bare without her, even when she just popped out for a moment. She just seemed to light up the whole place with a warmth I have missed since. My father prepared me for the Games but my mother prepared me for life, taught me that there is more than just fighting and winning. I remember how she used to run along the beach, her hair whipping out behind her. She could so run fast not even my father could catch her but sometimes- when she let him- the pair of them would collapse onto the beach in fits of laughter. I think, perhaps, one time my brother was there too and all of us spent one perfect day together bathed in sunlight. My mother was a good woman. She should not have died.

"Fin? How long are you going to stay out here for? It's been over a week. We're worried about you." She runs her fingers softly through my hair as she tries to catch my attention.

I feel bad about shutting her out but I really would rather be alone.

She sighs. It is a sigh touched with anger, frustration and sadness. I know I am being impossible but I think I deserve a bit of time to wallow. Annie is not completely put off by my apathy, however, for she continues to smooth my hair, occasionally releasing another sigh. Surely, if this goes on long enough, she will leave.

"They say Dylan could be like the ocean itself; he could be calm and deep or violent and tempestuous. The people relied on him, respected him, but they also feared him because although he could give life he could also take it away." She starts again at the beginning of the tale. She talks about the old fisherman that took him in as a child, the monster that lived inside a woman, how she turned him into a hero. I just sit and listen, closing my eyes against the sun. Soon the story extends into things I have never heard before. The forgotten moments that a mother once passed on to her daughter.

"But what he didn't realise was that the woman had many faces, many ways to trick and deceive him but love's eyes do not see truth, only what they want to see. One day the woman rushed to him ranting about a terrible plague that had spread across the land- a plague that only a brave hero could destroy. Of course Dylan wanted to help in any way he could, else the disease was sure to spread across the whole country and kill all in its path. So together they rode out to the tower of Havensay from where the pestilence had begun. She explained that a sorceress had given the disease a human form and locked it in the tower where no man could destroy it. She told Dylan that he must go right to the very top of the tower and kill the human within because only then the plague would stop.

"Luckily the tower was so old that the bricks were falling away leaving small ledges and footholds for Dylan to climb. When he reached the top he slithered in through the window to the room beyond. A soft lullaby played in the room gently rippling through the air like a warm breeze." Softly Annie hums a few lines of the tune. "He looked around, searching for the pestilence, but it seemed that the room was empty apart from a few pieces of tired furniture. So Dylan goes back to the window and is about to head down the tower when he hears a cry piercing the air. A baby's cry. He turns back to the room and he finally sees it- the small crib in the corner."

"He hesitates. Does the woman really mean him to kill the baby? Quietly he approaches the cradle, peering underneath its hood. The child stares up at him, watching his face with curiosity. He falters. 'It's a baby' he calls down to the woman. She laughs, 'it's a trick- she hopes no one can face killing a baby.' So that's it- it is all just part of the plan- a way to put him off guard. Well, he isn't one to be put off easily. So he takes his sword and drives it right through the middle of the cradle. He expects the body to disintegrate, to disappear in a puff of smoke as he had seen other magical things do, but it doesn't. A door slowly opens and a woman comes in- not the evil sorceress that he expected but a simple housewife. When she sees the cradle she screams. 'What have you done to my baby!' she cries, 'what have you done!' Unable to speak, Dylan rushes from the tower, half falling down the broken bricks. He can still hear the housewife's screams from the tower.

"He looks around for the woman but she has vanished so he runs as far and as fast as he can away from the tower. Sadly, though, he cannot outrun what she made him do. She tricked him for she really was a monster and she had the ability to draw out the monster in him too. News spread throughout the land of his deeds and he was shunned. So in this way the monster showed everyone how even the best of humans are corrupt. The disease she said was sweeping the land was human nature itself. Even Dylan had the capacity for evil and knowing this he could not live with himself so he shut himself away in a small lighthouse on the coastline.

"Many years pass and Dylan tries his best to makes amends but no one wants to know. Time is cruel and he becomes an old man whose work centres on keeping the lighthouse glowing its soft beam of hope out to the ships tossed upon the ocean. If the people won't let him help them directly at least he can cast a guiding light and save some sailors from the rocks. Sometimes he still thinks of the monster and wonders how things would have been different if he had killed her when he had the chance. What it would mean to still be a good man.

"One night a raging storm bashes the waves into a frenzy. There is a crash of lightning and as Dylan tends to the old lamp he sees the monster lit up in the middle of the ocean, calling to him and he knows this is his chance to do what he couldn't do before. So he rushes out onto the beach and dives into the tempestuous waves, disappearing amongst the foam.

"No one saw him again after that. Some say he died returning to the ocean from whence he came, some say he killed the monster and still roams the earth. It is impossible to say. What can be said is that though every good man has potential for great evil not every good man also has potential for greatness. In his lifetime Dylan saved thousands of people but he killed one innocent child and for that he could never forgive himself, could never rest until he had redeemed himself. And maybe it is that, rather than anything else, that makes him a good man."

Slowly I turn towards her "You remembered," my voice croaks. I can feel my dry lips begin to crack as I smile at her.

My smile is returned tenfold as relief floods across her face. "I don't know how I could have forgotten."

"You once said he reminded you of me."

"He does. You're a good man and bad circumstances don't change that. You need to start forgiving yourself."

I cringe. "I can't. I think they are dead because of me."

"What? That's ridiculous. This isn't anyone's fault."

"It's complicated."

She looks at me with an expression that says she can handle complicated, that I shouldn't underestimate her, that I can trust her. But I can't tell her- not everything anyway. I lick my dry lips and she passes me one of the bottles of water. I drink it down in huge gulps. I hadn't realised how thirsty I am.

"It's tough being a victor. It's not what you expect. They let you live but that's pretty much it- they own you and you have to do as they say. If you don't then they take away something that you love. I guess I did something wrong because… well there is no way that fire was an accident."

Her eyes slowly grow wider

"You see!" I tell her. Even she can't deny that this is my fault.

"What did they want you to do?"

I shake my head, "I don't know. I thought I did what they asked."

"Then there was no way you could ever win against them."

She's right, of course. There was nothing I could do. I did everything they asked and it still wasn't enough. I doesn't stop me feeling bad about it, though. I stare out to sea, watching the horizon. We sit there in silence for a while. I can feel the warmth of her breath against my neck as she watches me.

"Are you going to come back to land now?" She is ever persistent with this question. She has asked it every day since I took the boat out.

"Annie?"

"Yes?"

"How come you've come out here every day?"

She shrugs but doesn't answer at first. It takes a long time but finally she says in a very quiet voice, "What girl wouldn't row out to see the great heart-throb Finnick Odair?"

I look around the boat, "Lots, I guess, because you're the only one here." And really, it wouldn't matter if there were thousands. I would still only see Annie.


	42. Chapter 42

I receive the phone call one afternoon. Somehow she knows I'm at Mags. Somehow she always knows exactly where I am.

I've been digging a vegetable patch all afternoon. Little jobs like this have become important. I do what I can for other people because I find it passes the time. It is no good just doing things for me anymore, I've tried and I found I just wasted whole days staring out to sea, lost in a labyrinth of thoughts. No, It is much better to be busy and by doing jobs for other people I can make someone else's life a little easier, even if I can't do the same thing for mine.

"Finnick!" Mags calls, "Telephone for you."

I rub my hands on my trousers to get rid of the mud and step inside, taking the phone. I expect it is Johanna, who, despite prior comments about calling me, rings me up quite regularly- usually when she's had too much to drink or if she needs someone to listen to her barbs. It's strange but I actually look forward to those times. I'm tired of people walking on egg-shells around me. However, when I answer the phone, I find it isn't Johanna at all, but Hydra.

"You need to come to the Capitol," she tells me. "The rebellion needs you."

"Shhh! What if this phone is bugged?" I hiss. Mags has warned me about this before- the phones being sources of information for the Capitol. One day a victor could be chatting to a friend and the next he is being hauled to the Capitol for treasonous remarks.

"I know it is," she says flatly.

"Then why-"

"It's my department that monitors it." She laughs at that. I cringe, wondering what she thinks about mine and Johanna's discussions because I know she would have listened in. How could she have resisted? "Don't worry about it. You've got nothing to worry about. I've arranged transport."

"Won't people think it strange- that I'm going back?"

"Why? You and the Capitol have a very _special relationship_, after all."

"But- Snow? Blasius? They know I'm not going on their bidding."

"Actually you are."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm meant to persuade you to come back."

"How?"

"Empty threats, a streak of violence- the usual things. Snow really misses having you in his collection but don't worry, you're untouchable." She is so blasé about everything. My deepest concerns became mere trifles in her hands. I can't brush them off so easily, though. "The train leaves in an hour."

So that is it. I get on the train and travel to the Capitol.

* * *

><p>I thought I had seen everywhere there is to see in the Capitol- my work has taken me all over the place- but when Hydra leads me down a narrow road lined with canopied cafés I realise there are still some places I'm yet to discover. Between the cafés sit junk shops and second-hand book shops and galleries. There are artists with easels sat outside sketching, musicians busking on every corner- their light melodies slowly entwining into a summery hum of jazz. I toss a coin into some guy's hat and he nods at me as we go by. Windows are hung with scraps of coloured fabric; make-shift stalls sell jewellery and the whole place has a sense of the bohemian about it that I have never encountered in the Capitol before.<p>

"What is this place?"

"St Mark's Street. It's right near the university- hangout for students and artists."

She veers off towards one of the café's- a small place fronted by a row of empty tables with abandoned glasses and ashtrays full of stubs. I try to peer inside but the windows are brown with grime. I can only just make out the name of the place written in crumbling letters- 'Plato's'.

Instead of heading for the front door, though, Hydra takes me down a set of stone steps to one side of the café that no doubt leads to some grim basement. Part of me wonders if this is to be the location for her empty threats or streak of violence but when we step inside I find that the place is packed full of people and not officials either- young people- students. They sit around tables and on stools pointed towards a small stage area where a man nervously reads from a card. To my right sits a bar where a group of clamouring students fight to get their order in. It is dark and dingy and swelteringly hot yet more people continue pouring in behind us.

They clap as the man with the cards leaves the stage and a woman steps up to announce the next speaker- Tiberius. Hydra pulls me towards the back where the pair of us lurk in the shadows. I lean against a sticky pillar and watch as a stocky man stomps onto the stage. There is something almost militant about the way he holds himself- completely upright with his arms locked at his side. He isn't very old- perhaps only a few years older than me but there is something so commanding about his posture that he seems much older. I can't help but look upon him with admiration.

Hydra leans in to my ear, "Try to see beyond the showman and listen to what he has to say. You might find it interesting."

He stands there a moment, staring down the audience. We all wait in absolute silence, straining our ears ready for his first syllable.

"Look at you!" he shouts at us, a vein on the side of his head pulses and his whole face turns a deep pink. "Look at all of you!" He spits on the stage- much to the horror of his Capitol audience. He grabs one of the young women out of the front row and pulls her up onto the stage, forcing her to twirl. "Lovely, isn't she?" he spits. "So beautiful, so young, so carefree… Tell me, where did you get that outfit"

The woman blushes and lists the names of a few shops while pointing out different parts of her outfit. Tiberius holds her on stage with him for a moment, giving her a forced smile. "Diamonds from District 1," he says flicking her necklace. "Silk from District 8," he tugs at her dress. "Leather from District 10," he nudges her shoes with his. "No doubt you have gorged yourself today on the produce from Districts 4, 9, 10, 11. No doubt you have switched on a light today, no doubt you used transport to get here, turned on a television, maybe wrote some notes down for a class, looked up at our spectacular architecture," as he lists each thing given to this woman by the Districts his voice gets louder and louder, rising to an impossible level until he lets it drop to the lowest whisper. The room is so silent, though, I swear I can almost hear the heartbeat of the rebellion. "But tell me, " he says "did you ever stop and think about who made these things? The kind of lives that they might lead?"

Bashfully the woman shakes her head.

"I don't ask these questions to be cruel. I only mean to reveal the truth- not just about this woman but about all of us."

He directs the woman back to her seat and gives her a nod of gratitude.

"For all our lives, for all the lives of our parents, maybe even for some of our grandparents too, we have been trained not to think of our brothers and sisters in the Districts. These items made by their industries and the yearly Games are the only contact we have with them." He pauses then breaks into a roaring shout. "They starve while we fuss over the latest trends. Well I say we start a new trend right here, tonight, a caring trend, a trend where we try to make a difference to the people who need change- who should be demanding change- but they are not going to get it without our help. Only we have the power to make a difference- this is our privilege when it should be everyone's right."

There is a pause then the whole room bursts into rapturous applause. I can feel the hairs on my arm all stand up on end. I knew that there were some people in the Capitol that wanted change. Yet here is a whole roomful cheering a man that tells them they are wrong. A man who suggests there should be equality.

Tiberius stands completely still while they applause, not thanking them or even really acknowledging it. I watch his eyes slowly scan the room until they meet mine and there they stay. "It seems we have a special guest here tonight," He mutters. Slowly heads turn to look at me until every pair of eyes is fixed on me. "Why don't you join me up here?" he says.

I shake my head but Hydra's hand is on my back and she leans in again. "Go on, why not say hi?"

"But I don't know what to say," I tell her through gritted teeth but it is too late because I am already being forced towards the stage.

"Well, well, well, look what the waters of District 4 have washed up on our beach. Perhaps you could tell us a bit about what life is like back home?"

"There isn't really much to say," I don't want to think about home. I like to keep the parts of my life separate. If I think about home now I will think about my parents and no matter how rousing it might be, there is no way that I can tell a roomful of people that the president had my parents killed for no discernible reason.

"How about the Hunger Games? What do you think about them?" Tiberius tries to coax.

"Well, put it is this way, if I was in charge there would be no such thing." It's as close as I can get to the truth in the Capitol and even with just saying that I find myself looking towards the door, waiting for a group of Peacekeepers to come and take me away. Is Snow aware of this place? Does he know that the praetorians have an underground following of students and artists? Surely it is not completely unknown to him…

Tiberius tries to get more out of me. He does a pretty good impression of Caesar Flickerman in full interview mode but I keep my answers to a minimum. Still, it doesn't take much. I make a brief comment about the atmosphere in the control room each year and already it seems as though the whole room is about to take up arms and demand the end to the Hunger Games. Maybe Hydra is right, maybe I can make them listen.

When Tiberius finally lets me off the stage I stagger towards the bar. I am drenched in sweat and desperate to cool off with a cold drink.

"It's a shame more Victors don't talk truthfully about their experiences. Maybe then more people would understand."

"Most victors would rather just forget about the Games." I turn towards the voice and see a guy around my own age dressed all in black, propped up against the bar. In front of him is a pile of leaflets- on them I can just make out the word 'freedom'.

"Hard to forget when you have reminders every year."

"Yeah. Tell me about it."

He studies me, weighing up my features, "I'm glad you came here."

"Why?"

"Gives you a chance to see that not all of us are the same. Some of us actually care what happens." He glances across at Hydra, "But then maybe you already know that?"

The barman hands me my drink and takes my money. I begin drinking so quickly I almost drown myself in it. I instantly feel better though. As I lower my glass I see that the guy is still there, still watching me, but his gaze is not an unfriendly one.

"I do know." I have to believe it because there is part of me that belongs to the Capitol and though he is primped and goes to the parties and laughs about mere trifles even he sometimes manages not to forget to care about what is happening in the Districts.

The man gets to his feet. He pushes one of the leaflets onto the bar in front of me. It instantly becomes soaked in the ring of condensation from where my glass had stood.

"I had better go," he says. "My name is Cinna, by the way. Hopefully I shall see you again."

I open my mouth to tell him my name but then I remember he already knows it. Once Cinna is gone Hydra joins me at the bar.

"So what do you think?" she says.

"I liked it right up until the point I had to get up onto stage." I cringe, "Was it awful?"

"Meh. I shouldn't worry about it. They were probably too busy looking at you to hear what you were saying."

"Thanks." I look down at the front of the leaflet. It shows a ring of people all holding hands- 13 of them in total- one for each district depicted by their industry, and one for the Capitol. Above it says 'We are stronger together' and below 'Fight for freedom'.

"So, you still think you can help us?"

"I have a few ideas," I tell her. My eyes focus on the figure from District 6 whose shirt depicts a train. "I'm sure we can figure something out."


	43. Chapter 43

As we stare up at the newly built house in the Victor's village her hand slips into mine. "Come on, let's have a look around."

I shake my head, "I think I'll just stay out on the boat. Work on my tan." I go to leave, stepping out into the rain, letting it pour down my face, but she pulls me back under the porch.

She looks up at the sky, "Good luck with that tan."

"I'll wait for Eoghan to finish work. He probably wants to see the place."

"Finn…" she says sternly.

"What?"

Annie shakes her head and silently takes me inside. I know it is for my own good that she wants to show me around. To make sure I don't have to face it alone. Just it is hard for me to imagine this house as anything other than a prison- a well-disguised one, but a prison nonetheless. I won't be able to speak freely within these walls. It is just another way for the Capitol to keep tabs on me.

The hallway is full of the smell of fresh paint. The walls are impossibly white. She takes me from room to room and we peer into the empty unfurnished spaces. Everywhere I look seems hollow, lacking in the very things that make up a home. And it's not just the furniture. Nothing here belongs to me. I don't belong here. The thought of having to fill this house with new, lonely, memories is too much. I don't think I can do it.

They told me they would deliver furniture at the end of the week- to fill in some of the gaps with elaborate décor bought specifically with me in mind. I am surprised they bothered to build me another house. I could have just moved into one of the other houses in the Victor's village but I suppose when they burn everything you own, including those you love, the Capitol feels some obligation to try and replace what they have taken. If only it was that easy.

We end up in the kitchen. I can hear the rain rushing down the long windows. The storm has painted everything in a soft grey that stretches inside with the gloom of the afternoon.

"So what do you think?" she asks.

"It looks empty."

Her hand is still in mine, her grip tightens. "You'll find a way to fill it."

I shake my head.

It is easier to forget when I am in the Capitol with Hydra, where I can talk to her about changing the world- about what it will be like when we are all free. Stood here it is hard to imagine what I would do with freedom. Even if they elect a new president I will still have to return here and stand in this cold, mean house. I wish that by changing the world I could change myself too.

Annie is watching me again. I give her a wink. Force of habit, I guess.

"Oh no, you don't," she says.

"What?"

"The winking. You look like that guy."

"What guy?"

"That guy all the Capitol women swoon over."

"Maybe I am him?"

Annie moves round to face me, "I don't know, let me have a look…" she squints up at me, tilting her head first one way and then the other. "Hmmm… Nope, definitely not him." She pulls me into a warm hug, "You're much nicer." She whispers into my ear. I can't help but smile. Annie has an easy way of making me feel better.

I take both her hands in mine and gently I sway her. I rest my cheek on her hair, and take in the smell of the sea breeze that clings to it. Her hand reassuringly rubs my back, holding me tightly. Together we slowly turn in a small circle and suddenly the room feels a lot warmer, as though a single ray of sunshine is glowing down on us through the window. All of a sudden the greyness of today has been replaced with technicolor.

And it is here that I realise what I hadn't before; that it isn't just sadness that has returned to me since my parent's death- that I have the means to feel so much more than that- more than anger and regret. The monster can be allowed to lie dormant. Without my ties to the Capitol, without Blasius always on my back I no longer have to be the boy that told Annie there could never be anything between us. I could be so much more than that. I could fill this house with all sorts of things.

My heart thuds. She begins to pull back but I keep her close to me. I need this. I need her. Annie could be my chance to turn my whole life around and I don't know why I didn't see it before. Maybe there is something there. Something I never allowed myself to feel. I have known her my whole life but now… it is like seeing her with new eyes. I don't know what this is, not really, but I just don't want to let her go. I want to have a chance to love someone. I think, given the chance, I could learn to.

"Finn?"

"Yeah?"

"I think you need to let me go now," she says quietly.

I frown but I let her go. I watch as she walks slowly around the kitchen looking up at the empty cupboards. I wait for her to say something, but she doesn't. She stops by the window, staring out over the cliffs. I join her and both of us look out onto the dismal landscape. I struggle to think of something to say.

"When the rain clears I'll have to start heading back," she says.

I hope the rain never stops. I wish I was brave enough to say these words but I'm not. I still can't quite bring myself to give in to that way of thinking. I can't quite trust myself yet. What if I am wrong? What if I really am incapable of love? But I loved my parents… That is something, at least.

"I think I'll go back to Mags' house."

She nods. "I wouldn't like to be on a boat in this weather."

We stand in companionable silence for a while, watching the rain as it falls in droplets down the window. There are the drops that stay completely still, stuck to the window, never going anywhere and there are those that rush down the pane, taking other droplets with them in their race to the bottom. I guess I am one of the droplets stuck at the top as I never seem to be going anywhere. I am too scared to go anywhere.

Annie glances at me from under a curtain of hair. There is an expression on her face that makes me think that she wants me to say something, as if she is inviting me to take things further.

"It really is blowing a gale out there," I say then mentally hit myself. _Don't talk about the weather. _Yet… with weather this bad should she really be going outside? Would it not be better for us both to stay here? Wouldn't it be the gentlemanly thing for me to ask?

I imagine spending my first night in my new home curled up on the floor, chatting to Annie until the early morning. Maybe this rain is a blessing in disguise, after all.

"If the rain doesn't stop then-"

But I am cut off by the phone. There is not a stick of furniture in this place and yet someone has thought to install a phone. Well I won't answer it. I won't.

"Sorry…" I wait for it to stop but it keeps on going, even once I think it has stopped another round of piercing rings begins again.

"Hadn't you better answer it?"

I get up with a groan and storm over to the wall. I can guess who it is almost before I answer. Only one person would have my new number.

"What?" I say, picking up the receiver.

"Charming," Hydra replies, "I just wanted to let you know everything is ready for the Games."

This is her way of telling me that my plan for the rebellion is being set in motion. After my trip to Plato's I sat down with Hydra and suggested that the only chance we had of stopping the games is if we cut off the tunnels that lead into the Capitol, preventing any of the trains from getting through. As soon as the train lines have been compromised the Capitol will be left vulnerable, without supplies and without tributes, providing an opportunity for the rebels to take hold. Everything is set to take place on the morning of the reaping. The last of the preparations will be set up the week before when there is always maintenance work on the tracks to make sure they are running smoothly.

"I have been storing a few necessities in preparation- I don't expect I will get out much once the Games have started."

"Well I'm glad everything is going well." There is a pause on her end of the line. "Was there anything else?"

"No, not really," she says.

"OK, then. Bye." I hang up as she bids me farewell, keen to get back to Annie who is still stood by the window.

She frowns up at me as I join her. "Are you going back to the Capitol?"

"Not until the Games begin. Why?"

She shrugs, "Just wondering. You go to the Capitol a lot. I thought that maybe, now… well, maybe you wouldn't have to go so much."

My mind searches for an excuse, for a way to explain my continued absence despite the death of my parents, but no matter how I look at the situation my answer seems to come up short. I can't tell her about the rebellion- not here- someone is sure to be listening. I will have to lie again.

"I just meet up with a few friends."

"Women?"

"No!" I practically shout it. I can feel my cheeks turning red. "I er… I've grown out of that." I definitely don't want her to think I am throwing myself around while I am gone. I will have to tell her the truth about the rebellion. There must be somewhere we can go so I can explain. Maybe if I took her out on the boat again…

She looks at me sceptically but doesn't question it. Part of me wants to tell her I am ready for a relationship now- that I am done with constantly changing partners but I am not sure that I am ready for a relationship. I don't think I can allow myself to be that vulnerable with another person. Not yet anyway.

"It's still raining."

Of course, the rain! I should ask her to stay. "Annie? If it doesn't stop do you-"

There is a thud as the front door is thrown open. I almost curse under my breath as I hear the thump of heavy boots plodding down the hallway. Within moments Eoghan peers his head around the corner, shaking the water off his coat onto the new floorboards. I could throttle him.

"Ah, there you are," he says. "Hey Finn," he slaps me on the back. Then he turns to Annie. "Hake's looking for you. I told him I would send you over."

"Oh right, thanks," she says, her whole face suddenly lights up. "I'll see you two later."

And she goes. She rushes out into the storm without a moment's thought. Whoever this Hake is he must be important.

I see her walking out in the rain through the window, her small body hunched over, fighting against the wind. I watch her until she is out of sight and then I turn to Eoghan.

"Who's Hake?"

"Annie's boyfriend."

My heart sinks. "I didn't know she had a boyfriend."

"He's new." Eoghan starts rummaging through the cupboards, "You got any food? I'm starving."

"I haven't even moved in yet. How new is he?" I try to sound casual; luckily Eoghan is completely preoccupied with checking every empty cupboard because I don't think I do a very good job of it.

"I think they've been going out a couple of weeks now. Guess she got tired of waiting for you, eh?"

"Yeah…"

So that's it. I've missed my chance.

"Who is he anyway? I've never heard of him."

"Just some kid in Annie's class at school. He's nice. You'd like him." Somehow I very much doubt that.

"So," Eoghan bangs the last of the cupboards shut, "You going to show me around?"

"Sure."

Maybe it is for the best anyway. She deserves someone better than me and we are such good friends. It would be stupid to spoil that now. I tell myself this over and over as I show Eoghan round.

"This is my trident's bedroom," I say jokingly, forcing myself to smile.

I'm not really ready for a relationship anyway, I tell myself. It's not like I am in love with her. Yet no matter how many times I tell myself this, no matter how many jokes I make to Eoghan, I can't shake off the feeling that I've lost something. She is supposed to be mine or, at the very least, she shouldn't belong to someone else.

I look around the third bedroom. Really, what use have I got for a third bedroom? I can't help but sigh. Even when all the furniture is brought in, this house is always going to be full of empty spaces.

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><p><strong>AN- Hi, Thanks to all of you who have reviewed, favourited etc. Your support is very much appreciated. Apologies that I haven't been posting as regularly as I did before- I have been completely snowed under with exam revision. Thankfully that will all be over in a couple of weeks and then everything can be back on form. Hope you enjoyed the chapter. -Speccy<strong>


	44. Chapter 44

**AN- so I got a request from Courtneyfan14 for Finnick to meet Hake. So in this chapter he does. I hope you all enjoy it **

* * *

><p>I take a deep breath and open the door. I don't know if I'm ready for this.<p>

Eoghan instantly pushes past me, hastily slapping me on the back as he heads off towards the kitchen. Annie remains standing on the doorstep, her arm looped through Hake's. Slowly I take in his appearance. He is tall and so slender I think I could snap him like a twig. Dressed in what must be his Reaping clothes he looks overly formal as though coming to my house is some big event. So much for a relaxing evening. He smiles up at me, nervously pushing his glasses up his nose. Now that I've seen him I wish I could just shut the door in his face but instead I step aside and allow the two of them to enter.

"Happy Birthday, Finn!" Annie says as she passes.

"Most people are in the front room," I tell them, vaguely pointing them in the right direction. Arm in arm they excitedly go to join the others. I straggle behind, lurking awkwardly in the doorway.

I haven't celebrated my birthday since I turned sixteen in the Capitol. Most years I try to hide from it, I was almost always working anyway, but Eoghan insisted that I had a party this year and somehow I got convinced.

I look around the room. I only invited a small number of guests- the other victors, a few of the people I used to know from school… I am determined this isn't going to turn into some ridiculous Capitol affair with hundreds of guests and shameless excess. As a result the whole place looks somewhat bare- no decorations, just a few plates of food on a table at the side with a jug of fruit juice.

The guests are separated into two distinct groups- the adults and the teenagers. I stay leant against the doorframe unsure of what to do next. I suppose I ought to circulate. Mags grins across at me. The other victors are listening to one of Paddy's tales. He struggles to control himself as he chortles at his own jokes.

On the other side of the room the teenagers huddle together, sprawled out on the floor, chatting over the top of each other. Annie shyly walks over to join them and introduces Hake, her cheeks slowly turning pink. She hadn't asked if she could bring him with her, I don't think the idea would have even crossed her mind, but I insisted that I got to meet him. I need to assess the competition.

I watch him as he tries to explain himself to the group. From this distance I can see that his trousers are several inches too short for him. He must have outgrown them a long time ago and he probably doesn't have the money to replace them. I mentally give myself a couple of points on my tally. I am better dressed than him and I have more money than him. _Blood-money_, I can't help but correct myself. One point to Hake.

"Come on, Finn, stop making love to the doorframe and get your arse in here. Your fans are waiting," Eoghan shoos me into the room, his arms full of liquor bottles from the kitchen which he plonks down in front of the teenagers.

"Eoghan…?" I gesture towards the alcohol.

"What?"

"I don't think so." Victors, teenagers and alcohol- definitely not the best combination in my experience. I gather up a few of the bottles and head off to the kitchen.

"Spoil sport!" Eoghan calls at me.

"Drunkard!" I shout back, shutting the kitchen door behind me.

As I carefully hide the bottles amongst the cleaning products under the sink I hear the door open. I glance over my shoulder and see Ardal marching towards me. He slams his hand down on the edge of the sink, the sound echoes all the way round the cupboard and I unintentionally jump, hitting my head hard.

"Not long until the Games," he says, enthusiastically.

I slowly get to my feet, rubbing the top of my head. Through the door to the front room I can see Hake as he wraps his arm around Annie. _Push him away, _I think, _please, push him away. _But she doesn't, of course she doesn't. I am begining to see it was a very bad idea to invite him.

"I suppose you'll be mentoring again?" I just about catch Ardal say.

I shrug, "I suppose."

I start to shut the door to the cupboard but then I catch another glimpse of Annie and Hake. I need a drink. I take out one of the bottles of liquor, throw aside the cap and force as much vodka down my throat as I can stand. I almost choke on it but somehow I manage to hold myself together.

I try to go back to the front room but Ardal blocks my way. At this rate I will never get a chance to talk to Annie.

"Wouldn't mind having a go of it again myself," he says absently. Mags told me that he had tried to mentor one year but had a nervous breakdown and sent a dying tribute parachute after parachute- all of them full of marbles. Despite this he had still offered to mentor the following year. In fact, from what I have heard, he offers to mentor every year. "Would you mind if…"

"I think Mags is expecting me to help her out," I reply shortly. I don't want to be mean but the Games are the last thing I want to be thinking about right now. Another sip of the vodka won't hurt, surely… one more sip then I'll be able to escape.

Ardal and I begin a strange two step as I try to side-step him and get round but whichever way I move he follows. I take another swig from the bottle. It can only help. I can feel a pleasing lightness spreading through me. Maybe this party won't be so bad, after all.

"Oh. Yes, yes. It's terribly exciting isn't it? Don't blame you." He stares nostalgically off into space. "Good times," he says. Whenever I have spoken to Ardal I have got the impression that he is not entirely there. He once told me his Games were the best experience of his life.

I try to inch away but he keep moving closer and closer and I am forced back until I am trapped against the cupboards. "I should probably make sure everyone is alright-"

"Yes, yes…" he looks suddenly very vague and then his face lights up, "Maybe I can go to the Capitol to watch the Games. Got to show my support, eh?" He says this every year, and then mysteriously is too ill to go to the Capitol on the morning of the reaping. Mags says it is his way of coping- to buy into the Capitol's lie that it is all a festival. I don't think he really believes it, though; the fear in his eyes is unmistakable.

"I mean, I bet any tribute would be pleased to have me there, spurring them on. After all…"

As he drones on I see Hake and Annie getting closer to each other, her head is now resting on his shoulder as they stand with the rest of the group. I can't help it, my whole body tenses. That should be me. She wanted me first. If only I could get in there I could do something about it but Ardal is going on and on and on… I can barely hear him anymore he is just a constant drone in the background.

"Sure, why not, knock yourself out," I say cutting across Ardal's appraisal of the Games.

I have to get in there. I have to show her that she is wrong. Before I wasn't even sure what I felt about her, I wouldn't allow myself to even consider that I have feelings for her because of the circumstances but now I see her with Hake... suddenly everything seems much clearer and there is no reason why she can't be mine. If only Hake wasn't there...

"Anyway…" I point towards the front room but Ardal must have already decided he has covered all the main points and is in need of a new victim to torture because he pushes past me, shouting enthusiastically to the other victor's about the Games. One thing is certain: Ardal is never going to be caught saying a treasonous remark. The Capitol must love him- it's as if he swallowed their guidebook to the Games.

I have no idea how long I have been stuck here for. I glance down at the bottle of vodka. About a quarter of the bottle is gone. I take another swig.

Still holding the bottle I burst into the front room and push Annie and Hake apart so I can stand between them. They can get close in their own time not at my party. Arran is telling some dull story about school that no one is really interested in but they feel obligued to listen anyway.

"So Hake," I say, cutting across Arran, "Do you like sports?"

He shrugs, "I swim, and that's about it."

"Psh! Swimming! Anyone can do that- a fish can do that!" Another point to Finnick. "I've always been very good at sports," I announce. "I think it's how I won my Games. You know, because I am a _victor_"

"Finnick? Are you drunk?" Annie asks me.

"I can be whatever you want me to be," I tell her with a wink. I turn back to Hake who is swaying awkwardly. He seems intimated. "You're not a victor, are you Hake?"

"No," he says tightly.

"No- I don't remember your Games being on TV. I don't remember everyone knowing who you are and giving you a house, and lots of money. I don't remember you standing on that stage every year while people cheer you. Another point to me!"

Suddenly Eoghan grabs my collar and starts pulling me away, "I think it's time you and me had a chat," he says through gritted teeth. What's his problem?

"What? What now?" He pulls the vodka from my hands- just because I took it away from him earlier. If he wants some that badly he should get his own.

He takes me into the study and throws me into the large chair by the desk, shutting the door behind us.

"No need to be rough!" I tell him, I try to get to my feet but I struggle to get up so I drape myself across the chair instead.

"What were you doing?"

"Nothing."

"You're a mess." He wrinkles his nose in disgust. "You smell like a brewery."

"I'm being impressive."

"And I'm sure it's going splendidly."

I start to tell him that I'm impressing Annie but then I begin to think about the expression on her face when she asked me if I was drunk. She wasn't smiling. Why wasn't she smiling? Something has gone wrong. I was just doing what I always did in the Capitol. People always love that. I squint across at Eoghan. Suddenly I don't feel right.

"Who are you trying to impress?" He asks me.

My stomach churns. It's been a long time since I have drunk this much. "Annie," my voice sounds all high and weird and nothing like my own.

Eoghan grins, "Idiot."

"You can't speak to me like that," I tell him. "I'm older than you- it's my birthday."

"Yeah, and after nineteen years I would have hoped you'd know better."

"You wait a couple of weeks until you're nineteen. You'll see that it's just… you're just… " but my train of thought runs away with me and I can't follow it. "I need to get Annie away from that guy- he's a jerk- did you see him in there- smiling and… talking"

"Yeah, I know, what a jerk, eh?"

I can't help but laugh. He is a jerk. "She deserves better."

Eoghan shakes his head. "We need to get you sorted out."

"I could take him for you, if you wanted. Get rid of him, you know- defend her honour." He is so puny, it really would be no trouble at all.

"I think Annie can take care of herself."

"But she's so small. I've noticed that about girls- and, believe me, I've known a lot of women and they are just so small- tiny!"

"Come on…" Eoghan pulls me to my feet and together we stumble about the room. We have just about reached the door when the phone begins to ring.

"I'll get it!" I shout, rushing across the room and falling against the desk. "Hello? Hello?" I grab the receiver, just managing to keep hold of it as it slips about in my hands. "Yes? You have reached the Capitol's top voted 'hottest man of the year' how can I help you?"

"Finnick," the voice is deep and serious.

"Who is this?" I roll my eyes at Eoghan. What kind of person doesn't introduce themselves?

"It's Plutarch."

"Oh- Hey! How's it hanging?"

He mutters something I can't quite make out then says, "Hydra has been arrested."

There is a sudden noise from the front room. It is only then that I realise how quiet the house has been since me and Eoghan left the party. We couldn't hear any chatter at all, not even Paddy's laughter.

The door to the study opens. Annie peers round the door, looking pale.

"What is it?" Eoghan asks, going to her.

"A special announcement," she says, "They have moved the Reaping forward. It's tomorrow."

My brain struggles to take in all the information that is flying at me from opposite directions. Hydra has been arrested. The reaping is tomorrow. Hydra has been arrested. The Reaping is tomorrow… they must have found out about the plan. It's the only explanation. They have moved the Games forward so we can't go ahead with our plan.

I slowly sink down onto the floor, my legs unable to support my weight any longer. The receiver falls down onto the desk.

"Finnick? Finnick?" Plutarch says down the phone.

"I'll call you back," I mutter, reaching out and pressing the button to terminate the call.

Shit.


	45. Chapter 45

Nobody is ready for this, especially not me. The cameras begin filming at eleven, it is quarter to and they are still setting up equipment- the necessary lighting, the sound system for the microphone, the banners that usually hang up by the Justice building... technicians are hurriedly rushing back and forth, trying to avoid getting caught up in the gaggles of teens who are busily being divided into their age categories as the ropes are secured around them. I sit on my chair at the back of the stage and watch the whole thing through dark glasses. My head throbs, the bitter taste of stale alcohol clings to my tongue. I vaguely remember that I should regret last night but that pales into insignificance next to my current problems. I stayed up all night, turning it all over in my head, trying to figure it all out. About the plan. About Hydra. About the resistance.

"It'll be alright," Mags tells me. "They are just trying to put us all on guard."

Except it won't be alright. I tried to phone Plutarch back but he didn't pick up and I didn't know who else I could call. It's not like I know many people in the Capitol. I wish I knew how they found out. Were we not careful enough? If they know about Hydra do they know about me as well? After all, it was my idea.

I see Augustus Parke rushing towards the square. His train must have only just arrived. He pushes his way through the crowds, showing no care for the people who are thrown in all directions by his knobbly elbows.

"It's all right. It's all right," he gasps as he crashes onto the stage. "I'm here."

"Thank God for that," Paddy mutters sarcastically under his breath. "I was worried everything would fall apart without you."

Only five minutes to go.

Ardal leans across Sorley to speak to me. "I'm afraid I won't be able to make it to the Capitol this year- terrible toothache," he whispers. Of course I am not surpised.

Mayor Sullivan rocks nervously on the balls of his feet. His eldest son turned twelve this year. I hope he's not chosen; watching twelve year olds be murdered is the worst. I scan the sea of anxious faces, looking out for the ones I recognise. _Please don't let me know them, _I think. It's the same thing I think every year and so far I have been lucky. Who knows, maybe my luck will continue and Hake will be chosen… I couldn't engineer a better way to get rid of him if I tried and this way it wouldn't be my fault. Just another casualty of the Games.

There is a screech as the microphone is finally plugged in, which doesn't help my pounding head. Four technicians carry the two large reaping balls into the centre of the stage. There are so many name slips in there; all huddled together like the people they belong to. Two of these people are going to die. _Please don't let me know them. _

I wonder where Hydra is. Are they keeping her in some cell? Interrogating her for information? Her name is in another reaping ball, just waiting to be chosen, waiting for Snow to give the word so she can be killed in another set of Games- a game of secrets and lies that is played out not on televisions nor in arenas across Panem but in offices and backrooms and in the basements of dingy old cafés. The only difference is that there is no way that she can win. At least tributes have a chance.

The clock strikes eleven just as the last of the technicians disappears from sight. From the side of the stage a cameraman silently signals to Mayor Sullivan and he grimly takes his place at the microphone to read the history Panem. I am surprised he still needs the cue cards; he has read it so many times he must know it by heart. Even I know it by heart.

As he gets to the end of the speech I slip off my sunglasses and force myself to face the glare of the sun. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust but by the time Mayor Sullivan is reading out the list of District 4's seven Victors I can just about see again.

"And, of course, our most recent victor, Finnick Odair!"

I stand, as I do every year and wink at the crowd. It's not for the people of District 4, they couldn't care less. It's for the Capitol- because it is what they expect to see. Somehow, though, despite the hundreds of faces in the crowd, I find Annie and, just for the smallest of moments, she looks up at me too. _Not her. Please, not her. _ She turns away from me and Mags tugs at my shirt, forcing me back down onto my seat.

"And now, of course, let me introduce the escort for District 4- Augustus Parke."

Augustus, still slightly flustered from rushing up to the stage, fumbles through his usual Reaping day greetings. "What an honour it is to be here on the sunny shores of District 4 again." He draws in a deep breath. I can't help but notice the way his nose wrinkles. I bet he can't wait to get back to the Capitol. "Now, it is time for the drawing- may the odds be ever in your favour!"

He parades across to the large reaping ball that has the name of every girl aged 12-18 in the district. Throughout it all he keeps an on eye on the cameras, forcing his puffy fish-lips into ridiculous pouts. I can't imagine how he could be considered attractive, even by Capitol standards.

It shouldn't make any difference that the Reaping is today- it was due to happen in a couple of months anyway, but it does matter. No one was prepared for it; we have all stumbled out of our beds and walked into this scene. There has been no time for the customary rituals, no chance to prepare ourselves mentally for what is to come. I haven't even had a chance to pack a bag.

The Capitol spends months, maybe even years planning every Games, each and every component is carefully mapped out. The date of the Reaping has been fixed for years. I have never heard of them changing it, not once. Not even when it fell on the same week of the biggest storm District 4 had ever seen.

Despite the valiant effort by the technicians things simply don't sit right and the spectacle is not as it ought to be. Stray wires trail across the stage, one of the banners is curled under at the bottom, hiding the crest on it. It is little things like that which make me think they made the decision to change the date at the last minute. Who knows what a knock-on effect this could have. If the arena isn't finished then it could compromise the Games entirely and if they are willing to threaten the success of the Games it can only mean one thing- they are scared. Our plan scared them. It probably could have worked as well.

I suppose I ought to be pleased about that but my plan hasn't changed anything. Not really. The biggest effect it is going to have is that a few Capitol citizens are going to be disappointed. And that I have got Hydra arrested. Who knows how high up she is in the Praetorians- this could jeopardise the whole uprising. Maybe it is more significant than I thought. How did they find out?

"Right, let's see who the lucky lady is this year."

Augustus digs his hand right to the very bottom of the ball, pushing slips aside as he struggles to find the exact right one. _Not someone I know. Not her. _My eyes search for her again in the crowd. She is watching Augustus closely; completely calm on the surface but I know she is nervous; something about the way she holds herself doesn't look quiet natural.

Augustus slowly unfurls the piece of paper. I lean forward in my chair, squinting across in hope that I will see the name. Augustus, ever the showman, pauses dramatically, looking across the crowds, as if hoping to see the girl whose name is written before him.

_Not someone I know. Not her. Not her. Anyone but her. _

"Annie Cresta."

_Her. _

I am on my feet without thinking. This isn't real. This isn't happening. I can't breathe. It is as if I have been punched in the chest. I can't say anything. I can't do anything so I just stand there. Maybe I heard it wrong. It can't be her. Out of everyone, all those names…

I watch her as she slowly walks up to the stage as the cameras follow her. I can see her on the big screens. She struggles to keep calm, stumbling slightly as she mounts the steps. I didn't hear it wrong. It isn't just because every one of my thoughts seems to echo her name that I thought I heard it. This is really happening. She really has been chosen

I suddenly gasp for air. I try to speak but I still can't. I should say something. Anything.

"You can't do this! You can't take her!" My head turns to see the owner of the voice. It's Mr Cresta. He is rushing towards the stage as two peacekeepers run to tackle him. "Take someone else!" he shouts. The peacekeepers grab hold of him, "You can't have my Annie." He is forced to the ground. It is so silent that even I, on the other side of the square, can hear the butt of the gun beat against his flesh.

Annie screws up her face, trying not to cry as her grandfather's groans are gradually subdued. She doesn't look at me; instead she looks out towards the crowd, searching for someone. I follow her line of sight and it leads me straight to Eoghan. He signals to her to stay where she is, to keep her chin up. He mouths that everything will be OK but even he must know that it won't be. They are taking her from us. Nothing is ever going to be OK again.

They drag Mr Cresta from the square, his head is bowed and his whole body is limp. I wonder if anyone would have seen him on the cameras. How anyone watch a crippled old man react like that and not be sickened by the Games is beyond me.

"Finnick? You need to sit down now." Mags gently lowers me down onto my chair but I don't want to sit. I want to say something because this isn't right- none of this is right. Someone should stop this.

"I-" but no words come.

"Are there any volunteers?" Augustus asks, searching the crowd expectantly.

_Please. Please. Please… _I turn from face to face. There must be some girl out there to take her place. There must be someone else. But there isn't. Augustus' question is met with silence. There is no one. She really has to do this.

How many pieces of paper in the bowl had her name on it? Six? I know Eoghan never let her take any tesserae. What are the chances that Augustus should pick the one person that means more to me than any other? Six slips… in thousands? The odds are never in my favour.

Annie comes to stand next to Augustus, right in front of me. I can see her legs trembling. I want to go to her, to wrap my arms around her but the whole of Panem is watching. It won't have gone unnoticed that I stood when her name was called. It won't help for them to know she is my friend. I refuse to let them know- our friendship isn't going to be shared with them so they can twist as they please- they have taken so much already. They will never have that.

"Now, it is time to choose our boy tribute." Augustus grins, heading towards the second of the large glass balls.

Once again he rummages around, pulls a slip out, unfolds it and waits, leaving us all on the edge of our seats waiting to hear who it will be. Whoever it is will have to die. It is the only way for me to save Annie. The only way for me to bring her back home. They are all going to have to die.

Augustus clears his throat. "And this year's boy tribute is…"

I turn towards the big screen, ready to see Annie's opponent. I hope he is small and weak and useless and unlikeable and that there is no one out there who loves him. But he is none of these things.

"Eoghan Cresta."


	46. Chapter 46

Two weeks and Eoghan turns nineteen. Two weeks and his name would never have been in that bowl.

There is a soft snap as my sunglasses break in two. I had forgotten I had even been holding them. Mags places a hand on my leg, reminding me that I have to stay sitting, that I have to pretend as if nothing is wrong. I try to keep my face as steady as possible but my temple begins to pulse. I grip hold of the bottom of my chair, forcing myself to stay put.

Eoghan, looking as pale as a sheet, makes his way up to the stage. No sooner than he has reached the top of the steps than Annie throws herself into his arms, burying her face in his shoulder. She stays there as Augustus shakily continues with the proceedings.

"Any volunteers?" he asks.

There must be someone, anyone who could take his place. My gaze sweeps across the roped off areas, even Annie looks up for a moment, but no one comes forward. Maybe they are too much in shock or maybe they know that if they volunteer now they are messing with something much bigger than all of us.

"Right… the tributes of District 4!" Augustus says weakly, gesturing towards Eoghan and Annie.

I can't bring myself to clap and it seems neither can anyone else, for the applause is sparse and hollow. Augustus slaps his hands together loudly, as if trying to make up for the rest of the district. He continues long after everyone else has stopped, he movements, strained and frantic . Mayor Sullivan has to cough loudly so he can begin his next speech. Only then does Augustus step back from the stage, wiping his brow on his handkerchief as he disappears into the justice building.

Eoghan and Annie stand together all through the Treaty of Treason, right up until when the anthem plays, the cameras turn off and the peacekeepers bark at them to get moving so they can be taken into custody. As they are led away Eoghan turns back to look at me; I have never seen him look so worried but there is nothing I can do or say to reassure him now.

Usually at this point I would leave the stage to collect my belongings. Then I would take a car to the train station with Mags where a host of reporters will ask for our initial impressions on the latest tributes but this time it is different. Everything about the Games is completely different this year.

My head still aches and I can feel myself shivering. I still can't believe what has happened. Slowly I try to make sense of it; my two best friends have been reaped, only one of them can come home with me and that is only if they win. I will have to mentor the pair of them, watch them fight it out in the arena, pray that they survive…

"You coming, Finn?"

I shake my head, "Give me a moment." I don't trust myself to stand up just yet. I am not convinced that my legs won't just collapse beneath me or, if the anger take wins out, that I will be able to stop myself throwing a punch at the nearest peacekeeper or shaking Augustus until his stupid fishy head falls off. Anger is my only strength right now but this isn't the sort of strength I need. It is too easy to be angry. Even if I ripped this stage apart it still wouldn't change anything. It still won't bring them back alive. If I am going to help Eoghan and Annie then I need something more than that. I need a clear head to face the Games.

"Don't take too long, you won't want to miss the train."

I nod and I watch the rest of them head off away from the square along with the rest of District 4. There is no sign of Mr Cresta; I don't know what has become of him. I hope he is all right. He should be there in the justice building with Eoghan and Annie, not lying passed, surrounded by peacekeepers.

A few people stare up at me but I still can't find the strength I need to get up. It is still all too pent up in my balled fists and pulsing temples. The train will have to wait for me. I can't face the cameras, not like this and, more importantly, I can't face Annie and Eoghan yet. When I see them I need to have a plan, some way to convince them that everything is going to be all right. Somehow I have to become the mentor that I am supposed to be, not some volatile victor who is likely to get them killed.

All around me the technicians begin to clear everything away; piece by piece the whole spectacle is dismantled- the cameras, the microphone, the banners, the extra speakers, the screens… and then there are the Reaping balls, left completely unattended in the middle of the stage.

I wonder how they did it; how they made it look like they were just unlucky- as if their names were being pulled out completely at random. I know they weren't. It can't be a coincidence that in the same year my plan forces the Games to begin two months early that my two best friends are reaped. I know the games the Capitol plays too well to think otherwise. I am under no illusion- this is all because of me. Better start facing up to it. Better start figuring this out because I can't afford to fall apart now.

I take in a deep breath and as I breathe out I force myself to my feet.

I should go to the justice building, check that Mr Cresta is there to say goodbye, however, I can't resist going over to the Reaping balls. I stand over them, peering into the thousands of neatly folded slips. I reach into the bowl and pull out the first paper. Kelan Molloy. I throw it over my shoulder and take another. Conley O'Doyle. And another. Sean Mulligan. Another. Turlach Carmody… I don't know what I expected, maybe a whole bowl full of small pieces of paper with Eoghan Cresta written on them. They must have done it somehow. This did not happen by chance.

"Finnick?"

I turn over my shoulder. Stood amongst the small pile of discarded names is Augustus, his handkerchief still clutched in his hand.

"I'm sorry about what's happened," he squeaks.

I take another handful. Dermot Driscoll, Casey Neville, Niall Dolan… it could have been any of them.

I can feel Augustus as he gets closer, standing right behind me. "I didn't have any choice," he says, his voice so slow I can barely hear it. "I would have lost everything."

When I turn to him I see his eyes are full of tears, he buries his face in his handkerchief, blowing his nose loudly. "I always get the worst hayfever," he exclaims loudly so everyone can hear. Then his voice drops again. "I didn't know who it was going to be. They just told me I had to do it."

"But… how was it done?"

"They stuck the slips to the bottom of the Reaping balls. They told me to just reach down to the very bottom and unstick them, that way they could make it look as though it happened by chance. I'm so sorry…" he buries his face again. "I don't know how you will ever forgive me."

"It's not your fault," I tell him. "It's not like I ever expected you to have a backbone." Yet if he had refused to do it I have no doubt that District 4 would have had a more obliging escort soon enough. He is nothing but a pawn. At least it confirms what I thought.

The clock on top of the Justice building strikes twelve, reminding me I have a train to catch. "Did Mr Cresta get to the Justice building?"

"I think he is still with the Peacekeepers."

"Right." That, at least, is something I know how to deal with. I am not letting either of them go without saying goodbye to their last living relative.

I charge down the steps of the stage and rush towards the justice building. I expect he is being kept in one of the rooms at the back as Annie and Eoghan will be left in the two waiting rooms near the front of the building.

I push my way through the groups of people who have come to say goodbye- they are mostly teenagers they know from school. I recognise a few faces but I don't stop to acknowledge them. This isn't the time for a friendly chat.

"Finnick! Finnick!"I groan, recognising the voice at once.

"What now, Hake?" I say, turning towards him.

He actually takes a step back from me, hesitating before he speaks, "You will... er…" but he shakes his head. "Nevermind."

He wants to ask me to look after her; he wants to tell me how much she means to him but it is too awkward between us. He looks positively green, his eyes red and watery beneath his glasses. He is genuinely upset. I guess he does care for her.

"Nevermind," he repeats me turning his back on me.

"I'm going to try," I tell him. I am going to try with every part of me- until the very end. I will do everything in my power to bring them back. "But it won't be for you."

"I know," he replies. "I just wanted to be sure."

"Good."

I half run to the end of the corridor to the little room I know is sometimes used as a holding room for people before they face justice. I assume this is where they have taken Mr Cresta. My suspicions are confirmed when I see two peacekeepers stood outside. I recognise one of them instantly; hopefully I can use this to my advantage.

I swagger up to her, leaning casually over her to steady myself on the wall. "Eligia, I've got a bit of a problem…"

"No," she says shortly.

"You haven't even heard what I've got to say."

"We have been told to keep him in custody until tomorrow. I'm sorry."

"Couldn't you just bend the rules? Just this time? For me? This could be his last chance to see his grandchildren," I flash a sad smile, making sure I never take my eyes off her for a moment.

"We can't go against orders. Not for you, not for no one," the man says, cutting across Eligia.

Eligia screws up her face apologetically. "There's nothing I can do. We can't let him out."

This is harder than I thought it would be. "But you have to!"

"We don't have to do anything," the man says abruptly.

"Please… try to imagine what this is like." I turn from one to the other, trying to speak to the part of them that isn't the white uniform, the part of them that might understand. "He won't even have to leave the building. You can just escort him along the corridor. It is only for a few minutes. They are his only family. Try to put yourself in his place."

I pause, leaving them a moment to deliberate. I watch them exchange glances, each one waiting to hear what the other is going to say.

I hold my breath as I wait. Surely they can't be so cruel as to deny an old man this simple courtesy? Surely they have to let him see them.

"I suppose it couldn't hurt," the man finally says, his moustache giving a slight twitch. "As long as we escort him there and back."

"All right," Eligia agrees. "I'll get him."

"Thank you!"

She disappears into the room, barks a few orders and emerges a moment later with Mr Cresta stumbling behind her. His face is bruised and swollen on one side but he meekly follows her down the corridor. The other peacekeeper follows on behind. As he passes, Mr Cresta doesn't acknowledge me, he just walks straight by as if I don't exist. Maybe he knows this is all my fault. It wouldn't take much to figure it out.

This is all I can do for now.

Slowly I walk back to the foyer. It is emptier now, only a couple of people mill around the entrance, talking in low voices. I sit down on one of the benches and it all hits me again.

I'm losing them. From the moment the three of us arrive in the Capitol everything is going to change. I am not the same person when I am there and they won't be either. There will never be another chance for all three of us to be together at home. I will have to become Finnick the victor; they will have to be Eoghan and Annie, the tributes from District 4. They won't like who I have to be, just like I don't like him, but there is no other way.

Muffled voices reach me from the room on my left. I don't know who it is Mr Cresta is talking to but the voices sound soft and calm so I imagine it is Annie.

A few minutes later the door slowly opens and the two peacekeepers lead Mr Cresta across the foyer to the room on the right. As he disappears inside I get to my feet and head to the room he just left. I may get to spend the next week with her but I still want a chance to speak to her again as myself.

The peacekeepers let me pass without comment so I slip inside, shutting the door behind me.

"Hey Annie."

There are tears in her eyes. She quickly wipes them away. "I didn't think I'd see you."

I sit down next to her on the sofa in the same room where my parents once sat one on either side of me, fumbling around their words. We speak about nothing in particular, both of us fighting back tears. I am sure I am about to break, to crumple under the pressure. Then, completely out the blue, the words calmly, hypnotically fall from her mouth, so familiar and somehow so reassuring.

"They say Dylan was like the ocean itself. He could be calm and deep or violent and tempestuous…" her head falls onto my shoulder and I listen to her until the peacekeepers tell me it is time to leave and though we have said almost nothing at all, we both understand what we meant to say. I am sure of it.


	47. Chapter 47

I hate this train. Year after year we make the same journey with the tributes and year after year we are the only ones that return. The whole place is haunted by the dead. The fear, the sorrow, the hope, the nervousness, the excitement they felt as they travelled to the Capitol seems to cling to walls and curdles inside my stomach. I sip at my water but even that doesn't sit well.

The four of us are gathered around the dining room table, me and Mags on one side and Eoghan and Annie on the other. District 4 has long since whizzed by the window and we are all that is left. Augustus has disappeared to his compartment, muttering about needing to be alone. Now, we are all waiting for someone to speak but I'm afraid that something terrible will slip out of my mouth, something that might force me over the fragile line I'm treading between holding it all together and completely falling apart. So I remain silent and the four of us stare awkwardly in any direction but at each other.

"So... what now?" Eoghan eventually says.

Another pause. I draw in a deep breath, giving myself time to think of what I am going to say. "Now we plan, It's all we can do." I get to my feet. It is no good sitting around here all evening. I couldn't stand it anyway. There is too much silence, too much space for thoughts to wander. "We need strategies and angles and…."

"All in good time, Finn," Mags says softly, "Give them a chance."

"That's what I'm trying to do," I snap back at her before I can consider my words. They will show the recap of the other reapings soon; we need to go watch them. This will keep our minds busy. It will also enable us to figure out the competition so we can work out how Annie and Eoghan are going to beat them. We need to teach them to use weapons and how to act in interviews and about all the mistakes they should avoid in the arena. We need to tell them about the ways the Capitol and the other tributes can mess with your head, about the politics of the Career pack, about the way the games really work- on the inside… it is so much to fit into one week.

"Well it won't help if you try and do too much at once."

"Don't worry, I'm sure we can handle it," Eoghan says, cracking his knuckles, eager to begin. I knew I could trust him to be of the same mind.

"It's been a long day," Mags continues, "There has been lots to think about. It would be best if we all just have an early night. There will be plenty of time to discuss strategy later."

"No. We need to know what we are doing before we get off this train," I say firmly. We can't afford to lose a day.

"I just think…"

"I'm going to go watch the reapings. You're welcome to join me," I storm out of the compartment and make my way down the train. I had told myself that I was going to remain calm; I had told myself that I was never going to let it show how much this is affecting me. I guess I failed at that plan but it is hard to remain calm when I can feel it all building up inside me like pressure in a bottle and my cork is about to blow.

I grab a pad of paper from my bag then throw myself down on the sofa, turning the television on just as the District 1 reaping begins.

I am going to write down the name of the tributes called, a physical description and anything else that comes to mind. I want to pay particular attention to the tributes from Districts 1 and 2. If Annie and Eoghan are going to survive the bloodbath they will have to become allies with them. If they don't the usual Career pack will all turn on each other, leaving them open to outsider assault. When that happens the victors are often from other districts. Anyway, everyone expects this alliance, it has become tradition.

The first to be reaped is the girl. As she walks up to the stage I watch Gloss, He looks hopeful at first but his face sinks the moment she is interviewed by District 1's escort.

_District 1 Girl- Clarity- volunteered- very tall, wiry- doesn't know how to play to the cameras._

There is quite a commotion around the male tributes but when it is finally decided upon there is a collective look of approval amongst the victors, clearly they think they have a winner.

_District 1 Boy- Glint- volunteered- chosen out of five possible tributes- large, muscular, seems popular_

The screen goes momentarily dark then it cuts to the decrepit square of District 2. They obviously ran out of time to put up banners as the place seems unusually bare and the weathered stonework of their justice building is completely uncovered.

Enobaria is delighted with the female tribute; she actually rubs her hands together as if she can't wait to see her in action in the arena. There is something wild about the girl that makes me wonder if she will be the next tribute to be ripping throats out with her teeth.

_District 2 Girl- Furia- volunteered- arrogant, showed no response to distraught sibling who rushed towards the stage. _

I am surprised to note that there are no volunteers for the boys this year. A tattered boy of around fifteen is chosen. My guess would be that he is from the poorest part of the district. There is no mention of his family in the commentary, maybe he doesn't have one.

_District 2 Boy- Quintus- reaped- Quite small, face beaten and bruised- looks as though he has been fighting_.

I just can't imagine Eoghan and Annie teaming up with these people. All four of them have gone to great lengths to make sure they don't seem human. If they are anything like these personas I might as well team Eoghan and Annie up with a bunch of mutts.

The door to the compartment opens and Eoghan pokes his head round the door. "Can I come in or are you still having a mood swing?"

I roll my eyes," You can come in."

"Anyone would think something really serious has happened," he says drily as he throws himself down next to me. He leans across to peer at my notebook. "Furia? More like Furious."

I struggle to hear the names of the District 3 tributes. Was that Bessinger or Bessemer? "I'm trying to listen."

"Relax, it's not like I want to know their names anyway."

"I want to know. I need to know as much as possible. It will help me form a strategy."

"Do you do this every year?"

"No."

"Then you don't need to this year." He grabs hold of my pen and pulls it from my grasp, throwing it over his shoulder.

"Hey, I was using that," I lean over the back of the sofa trying to reach for the pen but it is just beyond my reach.

"Swot," Eoghan says, trying to pull me back into my seat.

"Idiot," I say, giving him a push. But it is a bit too hard and he topples towards the floor, grabbing hold of me so I fall with him. I land across his chest and pin him to the ground with my elbow. "Get me back my pen."

"Get it yourself," he says, pushing me off him.

The pair of us wrestle, each struggling to get the better of the other. I can hear the sound of the reapings in the background. Augustus Parke calls out Annie's name. I get a quick view of myself getting to my feet before Eoghan throws himself into my stomach, slamming me hard into the ground. My head throbs, reminding me of last night. It seems so long ago now. I hope Annie has forgotten about it.

"Let me up," I say to Eoghan.

"Not until you stop being such a moody jerk and act like my friend again."

"You've just got to face it," I say, gasping for air, "You are friends with a moody jerk."

I grab one of the pillows that are hanging over the edge of the sofa and use it to beat him away. He falls backwards, trying to cover his face with his hands, "Hey, no weapons."

"If you think that's a weapon you're going to get a big surprise in the arena."

"Ha- ha!" Eoghan replies sarcastically as he too grabs another pillow.

The pair of us beat each other with the pillows until, laughing and out of breath; we both slump down on the floor, completely wiped out. When I glance back at the television I can see the two tributes from twelve shaking hands. I have missed all the reapings. So much for making notes.

"I don't know what you are so worried about," Eoghan says, "After all, no one told you all these things and you survived. If you can do it then so can…" but his voice trails off because we both know why I am worried- it's the elephant in the room that neither of us want to discuss.

"Where's Annie?"

"She stayed in the dining car with Mags." There is an awkward pause then slowly he breaks into a smile, "So… are you going to tell her?"

"No. I can't. She has Hake. Besides, we both have bigger things to worry about. As do you."

Eoghan shrugs, "I'd rather just forget about it. Take it one day at a time and forget about the rest. And the good news is right now I am on a train with my best mate and tomorrow I get to see the Capitol and all those women you've told me about. You'll introduce me, right?"

"Sure, why not?" I say flatly "…They'd love it." I wish I could be as chilled about the whole thing as Eoghan but it is hard when you know what is to come.

* * *

><p>The next morning, when we are about five minutes from the station, Mags finally comes and sits down opposite me. I haven't seen her all day. It is as if she is avoiding me. Delaying the moment when we can discuss strategy. I don't know why. "How are you holding up?" she asks.<p>

"I'm fine."

She raises her eyebrows, she always recognises my old lie.

"What else do you expect me to say?"

She sighs. "All right. So who are you taking responsibility for this year?"

We usually mentor as a team but we still have to decide who is going to sign all the legal documents for each tribute- like their release forms after they have won. I think the idea is that as their parents aren't around to make certain choices the responsibility falls to us. I have been a legal guardian to tributes, some of whom have been older than me, since I was fifteen years old. It's ridiculous but the Capitol never stop to consider that.

I shrug, "I don't mind."

"I'll take the boy, then," she says. "Now, we shouldn't need too much of a spin for the press because the fact that siblings have been chosen should generate quite a bit of interest. Did you want to think of ideas for them individually now?"

"No… we'll leave that for the interviews. For now we will focus on them as a pair- have siblings ever been chosen before?"

Mags shakes her head, "I don't think so."

The train begins to slow down as it pulls into the station. I can see the familiar rush of the busy Capitol station. A crowd of people strain their necks trying to peer in at us. Flashes burst through the windows as cameras struggle for the first images of us. Time to put on my Victor face.

"I don't want to mention they are my friends," I quickly add. There are some things I still want to keep as my own and our friendship is one of them. I am not going to turn this into a public tragedy.

"I'll follow your lead," Mags says.

The five of us assemble together and when the train stops Augustus directs us onto the platform and the sea of reporters swallow us up.

Hundreds of questions are fired at me from every direction, too fast for me to understand. I try to keep on walking but soon the crowds are too thick so I am forced to stop and stand still. The flash of the cameras blind me but I try my best to keep up the act, flexing my muscles, pouting, my classic wink... Anything to make them believe that this year is just like any other.

"So what do you think the chances are for your tributes this year?"

"Well I'd say the odds are in their favour, after all, they do have me as a mentor." Grin. Ridiculous Pose. Nod of thanks.

"Are you pleased to be back in the Capitol after your prolonged absence? "

"I wouldn't call it prolonged, most victors only return once a year; you have just been spoilt in the past." Wink. A few steps forward. Turn for the cameras.

Eoghan and Annie are almost completely ignored as more reporters hone in on me. The pair of them stand like two rabbits in the headlights. Even Eoghan, who usually reveals in the attention, is beginning to look uncomfortable. Annie has shrunk back, her chin sunk down on her chest. I wish I could reach out to her and take her hand but if I do that it will give everything away. She watches me closely. She knows about this part of me- how could she not- but I suppose she has never had to witness it first hand before. I had hoped she'd never have to.

"Finnick- you haven't been seen with any women recently- have you changed your tune?"

"I most certainly have," I tell them with a grin. "I'm waiting now for that special lady."

Just in front of the reporter Annie stands- it is the perfect position for me to look as though I'm looking at the man who asked the question when really I am looking at her. I let my smile drop back a bit as I catch her eye; I hope she sees that it is genuine. I wish I could stay looking at her longer. I am disappointed when someone taps me on the back and I know I will have to turn away.

"Mr Odair," a deep voice says. I turn to find a man dressed completely in black. I recognise the style of dress immediately. "Mr Odair, I need you to come with me."

"But I'm-"

"At the President's request."

Mutely I follow him away from the station, away from the reporters, away from Mags and Annie and Eoghan and I slide into the back seat of a limousine.


	48. Chapter 48

The door of the car slams shut and I hear the click of the locks. There is nowhere I can go now. Outside everywhere looks a dull grey, muted by the darkened windows. I watch as the station slowly disappears. Just behind us I see Annie heading towards another car. As she walks she strains her neck upwards to take in the tall buildings that surround us. The sight has become so familiar to me that I can't imagine seeing it with new eyes.

The man from the station sits opposite, leaning casually back in his seat as he thoughtfully considers me. He has the coldest and palest eyes I have ever seen. It is like staring into a block of ice. I can't help but shiver.

"You look different in person," he muses.

"Well the cameras are supposed to add ten pounds," I try to smile but those eyes are still staring through me.

"No, it's… " he narrows his eyes, "I think your mask is slipping." A smirk spreads across his face, "you're scared."

"I get car sick."

"Allow me to introduce myself," he reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out a card, offering it to me. "I'm Pontius Tumblewell. I am the new head of surveillance."

I take the card and run my fingers over the gold lettering. So this is who they have got to replace Hydra. When I turn the card over to look at the back I see there is an eye printed on it with a ghostly pale iris. When I look up the same eyes are still watching me, no doubt waiting to see my reaction.

"Fancy," I tell him. I lean forward and throw it down on the small table to my left.

Pontius picks it up, "No, keep it; you'll want to remember my name."

I take it from him again and slip it into my pocket. "Is it usual for the person who is going to be spying on you to introduce himself?"

"Spying? No, no Mr Odair, that would imply a level of secrecy and, after all, most victors are fully aware that this takes place. It is, after all, a necessary precaution. I just thought, considering you were so close to my predecessor, it might be prudent for the pair of us to also build up a level of intimacy."

Suddenly I wish I wasn't locked in a car with him. I turn to the window and watch the buildings as they slowly fall to a standstill as the car comes to a halt. Instinctively I reach towards the handle but I know it is no use. I would have to break the glass to get out but by the time the glass breaks Pontius would be able to stop me. There is no escaping this car.

"Have you heard from Hydra recently?"

"No, but I have only just arrived in the Capitol."

"But you know of her arrest?"

"No… what-"

"You didn't question it when I told you I was the new head of surveillance. You did know that was her job, didn't you?"

Bother. So this is it. They are going to have me arrested too. I will be locked away while Annie and Eoghan have to face the arena and there will be nothing I can do to help them and there will be nothing I can do to help myself. All three of us might as well be dead already.

I shrug, "People lose their jobs all the time."

He narrows his eyes, "Tell me, how exactly would you define your relationship with Hydra?"

"Sexual." I look him right back in the eye. I stare him right out until I can see him begin to blush and I see the muscles in his legs tighten slightly. I guess I am not the only one who can be made to feel uncomfortable in this car. This clearly is the chink in his armour. It is unusual for a man of the Capitol to be so… repressed.

"But... but you are friends too?"

"Depends how you define friendship. Personally I don't pay my friends to have sex with me but maybe things are different here in the Capitol?"

His blush deepens. He turns away from me to look out the window. I watch as his fingers fumble, brushing down the material that has gathered around his knees. "And... how exactly did she pay you?"

"Well, she bought me an apartment. Sometimes money, sometimes clothes, sometimes jewellery- it doesn't matter really. We always figured something out."

"Did she… did she ever make _deals _with you?"

"What do you mean?"

"It's just… I was looking through the files in my new office, getting to know the different victors, and I happened to notice that a number of records are missing from your file- along with a number of time lapses. Did Hydra ever agree to… mislay records in exchange for… favours?"

I force my face into a frown, "Why would I want her to do that? I find you can buy a lot more with money."

"But you're not exactly strapped for cash anyway, are you Mr Odair? "

"No. I have many admirers."

The car turns a corner and I begin to recognise where we are. It will not be long until we reach the city circle. Above the next couple of streets I can just about make out the top of Snow's mansion. I need to prepare myself. Pontius is no doubt just an appetiser to this interrogation; soon I am going to have to face Snow himself.

"Do you know why Hydra lost her job?"

"I imagine because she didn't have a strong enough filing system and somehow managed to lose important records."

"Are you deliberately trying to annoy me or are you really this stupid?"

"I dunno, you tell me. But you know what they say, brains or beauty- you can't have both."

Pontius sighs and reaches out to press a button on the side of the car. A crystal glass and a bottle of brandy appear. Carefully he pours a small amount of brandy into the glass but he doesn't drink from it, instead he just sits, swirling the liquid around and around the edges, watching as the light catches it.

"She was arrested for treason," he finally says.

I search for a clever reply but nothing comes to mind so I remain silent.

"The question is," he continues, "Are you, too, guilty of this crime? After all, the pair of you are so close. Those missing files begin to seem just a little bit too convenient, don't you think?"

"Why would I want to commit treason? President Snow has given me everything." My hand reaches for the door handle again and I can't help but squeeze it even though I know it is locked and there is no way for me to get out.

"Precisely," Pontius says.

"You don't seriously think me capable?"

"That is not a question that we are here to discuss. Whether or not you are capable is neither here nor there, what matters is how you are going to prove your loyalty to us."

The car stops at the President's gate and the driver exchanges words with a speaker. I watch as the large iron frames slowly open allowing us to pass. The wheels scrunch on the gravel as we make our way along the sweeping driveway. Finally we come to a stop straight outside the front door.

The car doors unlock and Pontius slides along his seat to open the one closet to him. He steps out onto the driveway then leans his head back inside the car to address me. "Come on, we mustn't keep the President waiting."

Mutely I follow him into the house and I vaguely recognise the route we take up to the President's study. A man stops us just outside the room, though, and we are not permitted to go in until Pontius has shown him some sort of pass. The man mutters something into a headset, waits a moment, then opens the door for us.

As I step into the room the first thing that hits me is the smell- a perfume so strong it can only be manufactured in the Capitol. My eyes fall on the large bouquet of white roses that sit on the mantelpiece, then they drift across to the desk and the man who sits behind it.

This is the man that killed my parents. This is the man who has forced Annie and Eoghan into the arena. This is the man who has sold my body, forced me to kill and turned me into someone I never thought I would be. This is the man who has committed innumerable crimes but looking at him it is hard to imagine it. He is an old man, placid in demeanour with white hair and small eyes. Nothing outwardly could betray him for the monster he is but then, so many people also overlook the monster in me. I guess appearances can be deceiving.

"That'll be all, Pontius," he says, dismissing him with a slight gesture of his hand. He then turns towards me, "Please, sit."

I take one of the large seats on the other side of the desk, feeling like a child as I struggle to fill its large proportions. Unusually for me my feet barely touch the ground and I am forced to sit forward on the sit, putting me literally on edge.

"Do you know why you are here Mr Odair?"

"I am here because I won the Hunger Games five years ago."

"Yes, I suppose that is as good a place to start as any."

As he speaks the smell of blood curls round my nostrils. It is unmistakable. It is a smell that lingers in my dreams and when the dead come knocking at my window. Visions of torn flesh and cauterised wounds seep into my consciousness.

"It has been five years, Mr Odair, and yet the crowds are still cheering your name, they still long to see you face, to read stories about your affairs, to know every move you make. I believe you wore a deep purple shirt during the games last year- I still see that exact shade of purple paraded down the most fashionable streets of the Capitol. People go on pilgrimages each year to your arena to see the exact spot where you won, to leave messages and prayers in the cave walls. In a godless state you have become their deity," his tone is a little accusatory. There is a long pause while he examines me, as if searching for the reason behind it all.

"It was not something I chose," I tell him.

"No. I know. Even I had not anticipated it. However, the truth is that you have unwittingly become the key to the Capitol and there are a few doors that I need to unlock. Due to this position you have fallen into perhaps you can understand why it is unfortunate that you should be associated with _certain people_."

"By which you mean Hydra?"

"Precisely. It is not beneficial for someone as influential as you to be seen with someone accused of treason. After all, without proper information it might be construed that you condone such behaviour," he tilts his head slightly to the side, inviting me to deny his statement. But I don't. The reason I am here is because he knows. I will gain nothing by lying now.

"If you are going to arrest me could you at least wait until after the games? I-"

"Of course, your _friends_ will need their mentor. How _considerate_ of you. But I am not going to arrest you, Mr Odair. Throw away the key and you have no way of opening the doors."

"There is always brute force."

"But then you are at risk of breaking the whole door. No, I have other plans for you."

"What do you want me to do?"

"All in good time, Mr Odair, after all, tonight we have other things to consider. I was hoping you might join me on the balcony tonight for the Opening Ceremonies."

"But I'm a mentor, I should-"

"Think, Mr Odair, when is it ever prudent to deny a President's request?"

He's right, of course he is right. If I return to Eoghan and Annie now then I will be able to have a say in how they are dressed, maybe share in their misery at being plucked and polished raw by the prep teams. They will miss me but I am sure they will forgive me. President Snow has never been as forgiving.

"All right," I say. "I will join you."


	49. Chapter 49

I step forward and get my first glimpse of the crowds stretched out below. We are so high up that they look almost ant-like, a swarm of tiny people who all face the small white dot in the distance that marks District 1's approaching chariot. It is only when I turn to the big screens that I get any sense of what is really happening below. The cameras sweep over the crowds, trying to capture the sense of excitement and anticipation that grows ever stronger as the white dot becomes gradually larger.

Suddenly the picture changes and I see myself stretched to gigantic proportions on every screen. An explosion of noise erupts as I raise my hand and begin to wave. The President steps up to stand beside me and the pair of us are shown together on every screen in the country- me smiling, waving and the President stood stoically behind, offering nothing more than a curt nod to the roaring mass below.

"Spectacular, isn't it?" he says softly in my ear. "Together we have them in the palm of our hands."

"What if I don't want to work with you?"

"I'm afraid this is not really a case of want, Mr Odair, I cannot say that I particularly _want_ to work alongside you. This alliance is purely circumstantial."

"Alliance?"

"Shh!" he gestures back towards the city circle below.

The tributes of District 1 are now fully visible, both of them sparkling sapphire blue in the flash of a thousand cameras. The horses come to a standstill just below us, all stood to attention waiting for the President's speech. The District 2 tributes follow on close behind, then District 3. There is the usual cheering and waving and fussing over them all but I do not focus on them for long because I know what is coming next.

The dappled grey horses of District 4 finally pull into sight and Eoghan and Annie are shown on the screens. They are dressed simply in flowing blue material but somehow the stylists have managed to make the clothes appear as though they are floating beneath the water. Even Annie's hair seems to be rippling through the tide, hypnotically swishing around her. They look spectacular.

"She's very beautiful," Snow whispers. "I imagine she will receive lots of interest from sponsors."

My stomach lurches and suddenly I see the pair of them with new eyes. I see how the material only covers what it had to, revealing a little too much flesh as it ripples around them. I see the way the pair of them work the crowd; the winks, the kisses, the waves, the pouts. Eoghan flexes his muscles. Annie catches a rose. The crowd loves them. The Capitol is going insane for their clever costumes and winning ways…

I have to stop this.

As Snow steps forward I turn to look for an exit but the doors are firmly shut and it is impossible for me to leave without the whole of Panem noticing.

I don't listen to the speech; the words just become background noise along with the infinite rumble of the thousands of spectators. I watch Annie and Eoghan as closely as I can. The pair of them actually seem happy. If only they knew what is to come. I scan the other tributes- all twenty four of them. I take in their garish costumes, their individual performances. It doesn't matter what they do or what happens to them- all of them belong to Snow now. One of them will be able to escape the arena but the victor will not have freedom. They will still be owned.

A sudden loud burst in the noise indicates that the speech is over. Snow walks back towards the doors and opens them. I follow just behind. The adjoining room is completely empty which surprises me as I always thought the President would spend his time surrounded by attendants.

"I'm surprised you see me alone."

"Why? What is to be gained by having a band of followers with me at all times?"

"I could kill you."

Snow abruptly stops walking and his face twists into a smile.

"You know I have killed before. I could do it again."

"But you won't." Snow says simply. "You only kill on my request."

Something about that statement sends shivers down my spine. It's true; of course, I wouldn't be a killer if it wasn't for him and his Games. I would still be a simple fisherman's son from District 4. No one would know my name and no one would care what I did or who my friends were. I am one of Snow's army of child assassins and I may have grown up but I am still his.

"Besides, you value your life too highly to just throw it away. Kill me and you sign your own death sentence."

It's true. I may be popular but that won't exempt me from the law. I am well and truly trapped.

"Now, I believe you have some tributes you are eager to return to."

"Yes. But I thought you- You still haven't told me what you want me to do."

The President walks over to one of the large bouquets of white roses that cover the room, just as they seem to cover every other room in his sprawling mansion. Using a pair of carefully placed clippers he cuts the head off one of the roses and turns back to approach me.

I have to force myself to stand still as he places the rose head in my buttonhole. The smell of blood intensifies as he leans towards me and I have to stop myself from gagging. Eventually he steps back, admiring his work. "That will be all," he says.

He doesn't have to say any more. His meaning is clear. I belong to him. I work for him from now on. The whole of Panem saw me at his side tonight. It wasn't just a casual invitation to try and mess with my head, it was a very public message to the people. It said that I do not support the rebellion. It said that I support Snow, that I support the Games, that I support his oppression. Just like this stupid buttonhole does too.

As soon as I get into the waiting car I pluck the rose from my chest and crush it between my fingers until nothing is left but a pulp and its cloying scent on my fingertips.

* * *

><p>As I reach the Training Centre I am bombarded by reporters. I manage to bypass those that are stood outside but the lobby is also filled with them. They hover around like vultures waiting for pieces of dead carcass to feed off, their talons ripping into me.<p>

"What were you doing on the President's balcony?"

"What did you think of the Opening Ceremony?"

"Your tributes looked stunning- is this part of your strategy for the Games?"

I push my way through them, not stopping to answer their questions as I fight my way to the elevator. There is no space for me to walk; it is like trying to wade through treacle. Cameras flash in my face, blinding me. The noise is so loud I can't hear myself think. I just keep going, ignoring all of them. They are still shouting questions at me as the elevator doors begin to close.

"Do you have any comment to make about the allegation of you being part of a rebel group?"

"No comment!" I shout as the doors finally seal shut and I am left alone.

I lean against the wall of the elevator, trying to catch my breath.

I have to speak to the stylists. I have to make them see that this is not the way for Annie and Eoghan to win their games. I must make it clear that I don't want them to play to the crowds. I don't want to create a situation where Snow can use them the way he has used me.

I can still feel the effects of my meeting with Snow. It is all pent up inside me, desperate to get out but I must keep it inside. I can't tell them what has happened. I have to stay strong. I run my fingers down the front of my shirt, trying to rub off the horrid perfume of my meeting.

By the time the doors open I have managed to steady myself. The quiet of the hallway calms me. It is a relief to be alone again- to be given a bit of space to breathe. I close my eyes and stretch my arms out as far as I can, feeling the nothingness that surrounds me. I draw in another deep breath through my nose.

The soft mumble of voices can be heard along the hallway in the television room. I slowly let my breath out and head that way.

Mags, Annie, Eoghan Augustus and the stylists are all gathered around the screen watching a recap of the Opening Ceremonies. Everyone is congratulating Annie and Eoghan on how well they did, telling them that is just the way to get sponsors. Everyone marvels at the sparse bits of cloth the stylists designed- how beautiful they look, how clever they are. All I can think about is the way you can see right up to the top of Annie's legs and right down to the top of her breasts, nothing is left to the imagination. Eoghan's near loincloth is just as bad.

"I was wondering where you got to," Mags says. "How was the view from the balcony?" she asks, hunting for information.

"Fine."

Mags gives me a sympathetic look. The old code still stands, it seems.

"Didn't they look magnificent!" one of the stylists says enthusiastically. I haven't met her before, she must be new. She has luminescent yellow hair that hurts my eyes to look at because it is so bright.

"About that… I… it doesn't fit the strategy. I think we should do something different."

Everyone falls silent. They stare at me with open mouths as though I have suggested the ridiculous or the impossible. Only the roar of the crowd from the television can be heard. I glance across at it just in time to catch a glimpse of myself stood next to President Snow. This only serves to make me more determined to state my case.

"But... but they were perfect- everyone loved them," Augustus says.

"But it doesn't fit the strategy." I say again, forcing my voice to remain steady.

"Then what is it you had in mind?" the yellow-haired stylist asks.

"Just consult me before you make the next designs."

"But what's the strategy?" Eoghan asks. "I thought we did it right. I thought that was what we were supposed to do."

"It's all right; I'll make sure you know what you have to do next time. I just wanted to try something… less conventional."

"But- are you sure it is going to work? We need to get sponsors."

"I wouldn't suggest it otherwise."

"Yeah, well it's not like you have the best mentoring track record."

"I'm not the worst, though. Haymitch has been mentoring for twenty years and never had a victor. Believe me; I know what I am doing."

"Then explain it." Eoghan tells me.

I can feel the whole room looking at me, waiting to hear my innovative new plan. My mind struggles to come up with something. Ideas flash by too fast for me to consider. I have to think of something. This is the only way to keep them safe. This is the only way to save them. Think, for goodness sake, think! But I have nothing. I have nothing. Still they look at me.

"Some plan-" Eoghan says. "Next time, if you want us to do something try not ditching us so you can hang out with the President."

So that's what it is. He thinks I abandoned them. I don't blame him. I was meant to be with them. I was meant to be helping them through this.

"I'm going to go have a shower," I say. I have to wash off the stench of roses.

Besides, I can't take having to answer any more questions . Everyone wants something from me these days. I can't justify what I have said without telling them everything. I can't explain to them why I had to go without revealing the truth. I know Eoghan is angry with me but he has to know that I am only doing this for the best. Surely he at least understands that much? Surely he can't stay angry with me for long? Knowing him this will have blown over by tomorrow. I hope so. After all, we need each other.

I go into my room and begin to undo the buttons on my shirt. I need to strip away every part of me that came in contact with Snow. If I could shed my skin like a snake, I would. My clothes seem stifling, as though they are just another trap to ensnare me.

There is a soft knock on my door.

I sigh. There is no peace in the Capitol. "Come in."

The door opens ever so slightly and Annie peers around the frame. "I understand if you want to be alone," she says. "I'll go away if you want me to."

I undo the last of my shirt buttons and begin to fold it up carefully. It is more to keep my hands busy than for any particular purpose.

She steps into the room and moves across to the bed, perching on the end of it.

When my shirt is folded so small that I can no longer fold it any more I reach for the coil of rope that I always keep hung over the bedpost. I am surprised that the Capitol leave it there each year but I am always pleased when I see it waiting for me.

"It must be really hard for you," Annie says quietly.

I sit down next to her, twisting the rope around in my lap. "It's worse for you."

She shakes her head. "Before we went out of the Remake Centre Eoghan told me that we should act like you do in front of the cameras- that we should wave and blow kisses and all those sorts of things. So we did. And then I saw you up on the balcony and it just suddenly occurred to me how... how invisible you are."

"I was far from invisible. The whole of Panem saw me."

"No- they didn't. Not really. Not you, anyway. They just see the act. That's how I felt too- invisible. It's like you're not even there anymore. You are just swallowed up by the cameras and the crowds. This place makes you something completely different."

"I did warn you." I pull the rope and release the elaborate knot I had constructed. My fingers automatically start on the next one.

"Is that why you don't want us acting that way too? So we don't become invisible?"

"Yeah, that's why. I'd rather the pair of you stay exactly as you are."

She nods, "That's what I hope too. If I live I want to be able to live my own life, not someone else's."

"Yeah. Some days it's hard to keep it up. It will be better when the Games are over and we can return to District 4."

Except it won't be because someone will be left behind...

We sit quietly for a moment, my fingers still looping the rope, mindlessly. It is so easy talking to Annie. It is as if she knows what I am thinking before I even know myself. I have the sudden urge to tell her how I feel. My own longing clings to the air, filling our silence with nervous anticipation.

I am just about to let it all spill out when she finally she gets to her feet. "I should let you get back to your shower." She turns her back on me and begins to walk away. For some reason I want to see her face just one more time before she goes.

"Annie…"

She turns.

"Annie… I- I'm sorry I abandoned the pair of you today."

"You didn't abandon us. Don't worry about Eoghan- you know what he's like when he's nervous."

"I know. But I should have been there."

"Then you better make sure you are next time."

"You bet." _I will always be there. Always. _Again my confession burns on my tongue. I am desperate to tell her but I can't. "I hope you have a good sleep. You'll have a busy day tomorrow."

"Thanks, you too."

And she goes and I am left alone again.

I throw my length of rope across the room. It hits against the wall and falls in a heap. I wish I could have told her. If it wasn't for Snow, if it wasn't for the Games, if it wasn't for Hake…

There is a creak as the door opens again. Mags pushes her way inside. "Come on, then, out with it, what is this strategy of yours?"

I shake my head. "No Strategy, I'm just not going to let them end up like me. If that means no fancy clothes and playing to the crowd, then so be it."

"You won't be doing them any favours. They need to be memorable."

"Well I don't want them to be remembered. I just want them to be alive."

That's it. I need to find a way for them to win but for no one to care. They need to become invisible but without any other persona for the crowds to see. If they aren't popular, if no one remembers them, then maybe there is a chance that they can go back to District 4 and live just as they did before…. Yeah, and maybe they'll change the rules so I can bring both of them home. Dream on, Finnick…


	50. Chapter 50

Another hour ticks by. Blearily my mind turns it all over again. Drifting in and out of consciousness I half think and half dream of Annie and Eoghan as they face the gymnasium. I see Eoghan lifting weights as though they are as light as a feather. Annie attacks a dummy with a knife showing ferocity equal to a wild cat. It is going to be alright. The other tributes stop to watch them, amazed by them. They are untouchable. Everyone knows that they will win. That Eoghan will win. That Annie will win. I struggle to work out which- I can't quite find the answer.

I turn over to face the wall, drawing the covers tighter around me.

Loud footsteps race down endless passages. Shaking hands stab people in the darkness. Water dribbles down cave walls. The burning of the ice. The coolness of the water. The taste of blood in my mouth.

Light begins to glow through the gap in the curtains. It must be morning. I should get up. I need to tell Eoghan and Annie their strategy. I think about moving but I can't and I swept under again.

A victor stands before President Snow but somehow I can't make out their face. I try to get a better look, leaning forward in my seat but no matter where I turn someone blocks my way. I look down at the programme in my hand but all I see is a picture of myself smiling up at me. I get to my feet, rushing towards the stage. I have to see who has won.

But I never reach the stage. Instead I am back in the gymnasium. I walk over to the closest station but there are no tridents. I know I can't win without one. I look hopelessly around, wondering if I should ask someone.

"What's wrong?" Eoghan is stood by my side.

"We can't win," I tell him. "There are no tridents. We can't win."

When I turn towards the Gamemakers I see President Snow is stood watching us, a glass of deep red blood in his hand. He drinks from the glass then begins to laugh as the it dribbles down his chin and stains the front of his shirt.

"You can't have them!" I shout up at him. "You can't have them!"

But to my left I see Annie slowly walking towards him. I call to her to stop but she is completely unreachable. She glides towards the President like a sleep walker, her arms stretched out to embrace him.

"You can't win." Snow echoes, "You can't win because I command you to lose."

I awake with a gasp.

I glance at the clock. It's quarter to ten. Fifteen minutes until their training begins. Shit.

I scramble out of bed, dragging on last night's clothes as I fight to reach the door. I can't miss this as well. I can't keep letting them down all the time.

I run towards the dining room and arrive just as they are all getting up from the table.

"Please don't tell me you are going to try getting sponsors looking like that?" Eoghan says. He smiles and I know he has forgiven me from last night. My chest feels a little lighter.

"No, but I am going to tell you your strategy."

"Maybe you should learn to do up buttons straight before you start advising on strategy," he adds gesturing towards me.

I look down and sure enough the shirt front hangs lower on one side where three buttons have been missed at the top. "Strangely I thought saving your life was more important but, you know, if you'd prefer the buttons to be straight then…" I playfully go to adjust my shirt, moving deliberately very slowly so he has to wait.

"You should probably save that for later," Annie says quietly, glancing towards the clock. "We only have ten minutes."

Right. Yeah… this is no time to joke around. I've got to get my head straight.

I glance across at Mags, waiting to see what she has to say. Part of me hopes she will bail me out, tell me she has already come up with the winning strategy.

"I've told them what to expect today but I knew you had an idea of how you wanted to play this so I've left the strategy up to you." She gives me a look that says 'this had better be good'.

I turn back towards Annie and Eoghan; glancing first to one and then the other as I fumble through the only plan my groggy mind has managed to come up with. "The main thing during the next three days is to assert yourselves as part of the career alliance. By all means move round to all the different stations but try and keep your skills hidden as much as you can. Try not to stand out. I want you to be mysterious. The less they know, the less they can use against you."

Eoghan nods, "Right."

I turn back to Mags, trying to gage her reaction but her expression is unreadable.

Augustus launches into the room, "It's time!" He excitedly ushers Annie and Eoghan out of the room. Annie cringes nervously as she leaves.

I wish I could go with her down to gymnasium but mentors aren't allowed. Instead the closest I can get to the pair of them is the gallery that runs all the way around the top of the gymnasium offering a bird's eye view of the training. It is only open until the end of the morning on the third day then is locked up for the individual training sessions. It is difficult to tell exactly what is going on as you can't hear anything but it at least it gives some sense of the other tributes styles. Hopefully I will be able to add some more notes to my book.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind them I turn to Mags. "So…?"

"I hope you know what you are doing," is all she says gently.

"I wish I did."

She looks at me with a sad smile. I don't have to tell her about President Snow or staying up most of the night worrying or how much they both mean to me. She knows. "Come here." She draws me into a tight hug.

It's the kind of hug that my mother used to give me after I woke from terrible nightmares, the kind of hug my father gave me after I returned from the Games when he thought I had slipped too far away. A lump rises in my throat. I miss them so much. I never dreamed I would have to face something like this again without them as back up.

"This is big, Mags," I whisper. "But I am trying my best."

"I know you are. You are doing great."

"I'm going to do everything I can."

"I know. You would never let yourself do anything less." Slowly she pulls back. I wish I could hold her a moment longer. I wish I could give in to it all, just for a moment, but if I do that now I will never pull myself back. Better the occasional burst of anger than to let myslef break. I'll be no use to anyone if I do. She pats my shoulder. "You go down to the gallery. I'll face the press and potential sponsors today."

"Thank you. Try and… try and keep them safe."

"I'll do all I can."

"Then I can't ask for anything more." I grin at her. I honestly don't know what I would do if she wasn't here.

I take a step towards the elevator then stop, remembering what Eoghan said. I turn back to quickly glance in the mirror. There are dark bags under my eyes, my hair is matted and hangs limply around my face. There is a stain down the front of my shirt which is still buttoned wrong. I look a mess. Any prep team would despair if they saw me now.

"Maybe I should…"

"Yeah, maybe," Mags agrees.

I hurriedly head back to my room to have the shower that I never quite managed last night. It is no good showing the other mentors how much this means to me. I need to be the same golden boy I have always been. They are not going to use this against me, not when I already have Snow on my back.

Just over half an hour later I push open the door to the gallery. A few people are milling about on this side but no one I am really friendly with so I begin to walk, glancing down through the darkened windows to look at the tributes below. I get about a third of the way around when I find Johanna leant up against the window, picking her nails.

"That boy of yours seems to think he is something special."

"He is."

She frowns at me, "Got yourself a boyfriend?"

"Ha-ha, very funny."

I lean close to the glass, looking down on the twenty four tributes as they negotiate the different stations. It is some time before I find Eoghan. He is stood talking to the boy from District 1 next to the sword combat area. They are stood very casually for a pair that will be fighting each other to the death in a week's time. I guess Eoghan has wasted no time forming the alliance. Good. At least that part is going to plan.

It takes me even longer to find Annie but eventually I spot her on the climbing wall, carefully moving upwards as a trainer offers her direction from below.

"I had to ask after all that talk in interviews about 'settling down'. Thought you'd gone mad" Johanna continues. "Although, after last night's performance, I was sure you were referring to Snow. You looked so cosy together," she tries very hard to sound like she is joking but she can't hide her true feelings, somehow they always shine through.

"It's not like that," I tell her.

"Of course it isn't." she sneers. She turns slowly away from me so I can only see her back, her fingers tracing circles on the glass.

"Jo…"

There is an awkward silence that I don't quite know how to fill so I turn back to the gymnasium. The boy from District 2 is tearing apart one of the training dummies with his bare hands, a number of trainers look across at him with concern. Rather than making him look tough it is making him look insane. I still can't quite figure him out.

"I don't know how you could stand it up there." The sound of Johanna's voice startles me. "How could you just stand next to him as if it is the most normal thing in the world- as if you supported him? I swear I would have pushed him off that balcony if it had been me. He killed Jessie. He killed your parents!"

"I know… I know."

"You shouldn't have gone. You're free. He can't touch you anymore. You're free. You're meant to tell him to go screw himself, not share his fucking balcony."

"I know."

"Jeez, Finnick. What's wrong with you?"

I wasn't going to tell her but if there is one person who is going to understand exactly what I am going through it is Johanna. I move round so I am facing her and I lean against the window as well, moving my hand up to the glass.

"Look- That's my best friend," I jab my finger against the glass pointing towards Eoghan. "And she's my... my…" As I watch Annie jump down from the wall I suddenly don't know how I am meant to explain what she is to me.

"Your what?" Johanna asks, a little too quickly.

"My… other best friend."

"I see," she says shortly.

"That's why I stood with Snow."

"But… why?"

"I can't tell you why- not here."

She nods blankly. "Both of them."

"Yes."

"Shit."

"Yeah."

Both us look down on the training room again. Annie has moved on to the long range weapons and is selecting a bow from the racks. Eoghan is still stood with the boy from District 1. I am yet to see him train with anything- I suppose I did ask him to be mysterious, I just didn't realise he would be quite this mysterious.

I seek out the girl from District 2. I am surprised to see her at the edible plants station. Careers don't usually bother with the survival skills. Really there is no point when you have all the supplies from the cornucopia. Surely this must be part of some elaborate strategy that has been worked out for her? Maybe she wants to hide her true skills but I don't see what good that would do. Maybe I'll have to have words with Enobaria- she if she will shed some light on her strange tributes.

"You can't help them now; you know that, don't you?" Johanna suddenly says.

"I'll try my best."

"Snow won't save them. You should just tell him to go stuff himself."

I shake my head. "I can't. He thinks I'm working for some rebel group. He could have me killed."

"Jeez, Finnick. Are you completely brainless? He would have left you alone. You'll have to kill him now."

I force myself to laugh. "I wish it was that easy."

"Sure it is, just give him a good kick."

Eoghan finally moves away from the boy from District 1 and goes to join the girl from 2 by the edible plants station but she doesn't even acknowledge him.

"How did you manage last year?"

She shakes her head, "You just have to get on with it. Like in the arena. You just have to know, for better or worse, it is going to end sometime. You put all you have into it and just hope… You'll probably get destroyed by it but you hope you won't- or at least not in a serious way."

"Just mildly destroyed, eh?"

"Yeah. That's the best you can hope for now."


	51. Chapter 51

I meet Annie and Eoghan at the elevator. I just catch them in time, slipping in neatly behind just before the doors close. I turn to one and then the other, waiting for them to tell me how training has gone but neither is forthcoming.

"So… how's it going?" I turn first to Annie, trying to gauge her expression but, as usual, I struggle to read her. She just looks exhausted. I hadn't noticed it this morning but there is something about the redness of her eyes that suggests that she hasn't been sleeping. I am still looking at Annie when Eoghan begins to speak.

"Don't worry I've got this all under control," he says, "This alliance is in the bag," he clicks his knuckles and leans triumphantly back against the mirrored walls of the elevator. "District 1 seems like an all-round decent sort of guy. The girl seemed a bit distant but I'm pretty certain she'll do whatever he does. Not sure about District 2, they seem a bit of an odd pair but they sat with us at lunch so I expect they are planning on joining the alliance. Still, there is tomorrow to confirm it all. I think I'll start by joining District 2 for training, just to make sure I get them on our side."

"Good," I say. Although I am listening to Eoghan's assessment of the day's events most of my attention remains on Annie. Something is wrong. She has wedged herself right into the corner of the elevator, away from both of us and she has a look on her face that suggests she is a million miles away.

I don't like to call her back from wherever she is, she looks so calm that I am sure she must be somewhere better than here, but a selfish part of me wants to keep her close by, to know her thoughts on things. So I call her back "How's your day been, Annie?"

It takes a second for her to focus on me and fight off her daze. Then slowly she shakes her head. "I'm not going back there tomorrow."

"What?" Both Eoghan and I say at once. The doors of the elevator ping open but none of us move. Eoghan and I are too focused on Annie who calmly stares us out.

"I'm not going back," she repeats. She pushes past us both and steps out onto the fourth floor, forcing the pair of us to chase after her.

"But you have to, it's the rules." Eoghan turns to me, "She does, doesn't she?"

I don't know. Does she have to go? I have never heard of a tribute not going before.

"What happened?" I ask, "Why don't you want to go back?"

She keeps moving towards the main sitting room where we usually gather in the evenings, not even slowing down for a moment to answer my question.

"I don't belong there."

"What do you mean?" Eoghan asks, "You are in the alliance."

"No," she says, "You're in the alliance. I was just in the room."

She rounds the corner and charges towards the sofas. It is almost as if she is trying to outrun the pair of us. It is only when she sits down that I am sure that she isn't.

"But we're on the same team," Eoghan says. "I formed the alliance for both of us."

We stand over her, looking down as she looks up. I thought she would look upset, that maybe she would be crying but she's not. She is almost completely expressionless except the tight thin line of her lips.

"And what use am I to the Careers? Did you see them?" She turns to me. "The boy from 2 ripped a dummy apart with his bare hands and threw the pieces all around the gymnasium. The girl from 1 can get a perfect bull's-eye with a bow and arrow- every time. The boy fought three trainers to their knees with the sword. I don't stand a chance."

"Then surely that's all the more reason to go to training," Eoghan says, somewhat lamely.

She stays facing me. "You told us to be mysterious and I will be a complete mystery if I don't show up at all. So it fits perfectly with your strategy." She folds her arm across her chest. "I'm not going back."

"You should go," I tell her, "The trainers can help you- anything you can learn is going to help you. Besides, you should get to know the other tributes."

"I don't want to know them. That isn't going to help me. And what exactly am I going to learn in two days? Some of them have been training their whole lives. At least you and Eoghan learnt how to do some things together. He knows something. I don't even know where to begin."

"I'll help you," Eoghan says. "And Finn will, and Mags, and together we'll be able to figure something out."

"I'm still not going back to training," she says. Eoghan and I exchange glances. We know there is no way we are going to be able to change her mind.

"You will have to go to your private training session" I say.

"To show them what?"

"Your skills," Eoghan says.

"What skills?"

I search desperately for something to say, looking for some ray of light that will make everything seem better but when I think of Annie I don't think of ways she can kill or ways she can survive, I only think of her qualities- how kind she is, how patient, how understanding. I think of the impossibly happy feeling I get when I am with her. I think of all the many little things that make her who she is and I know that I would not change a single one but I also know they will be of no use to her in the arena.

I turn to Eoghan, but he isn't even managing to hide how hard it is to define Annie's skills. "Erm…."

"Exactly," she says. "Exactly. I don't have any skills."

"Sure you do…" but I can feel my cheeks begin to burn because I know I have no way of following up this statement.

"You're smart!" Eoghan finally says, a little too loudly to sound natural. "That's got to count for something."

"And intuitive," I add.

"And practical."

"And fast."

"And Stubborn."

"And… punctual." I cringe when I realise what I have said.

"Thanks Finn, I'll make sure I'm on time for my death. Let's face it- I'm not strong, I don't really know how to use a weapon and I haven't got a hope of getting out alive."

I don't know how long she must have been mulling this over, slowly turning it in her mind- probably since that first night on the train; probably since the moment she was reaped. It must have gradually built up inside her, growing every day until now. I guess seeing the other tributes was the final straw- the final thing that just confirmed all her fears.

"You do," I say. "You do have a chance."

"Well if my only strategy is to hope I prove to be lucky I don't see what use returning to train is going to be. District 1 and 2 will just realise how useless I am then it will destroy the alliance. There are only so many times I can visit the knot tying station."

She finally drops my gaze and lets her head fall forward. Eoghan kneels down in front of her, trying to see her expression beneath the curtain of hair that covers her face.

"You could make traps," he says. "You already know all the knots, anyway, you just have to learn what to do with them. You could learn that in two days, no problem."

"That's not a bad idea," I add. Of course traps are not much use when you are being attacked by another tribute but at least this might give her something to focus on.

Slowly she looks up. "I guess."

"You could show the Gamemakers that," Eoghan continues brightly.

"But I'll need to know more than that."

"We'll teach you as best we can," I say. "We could go down in the evenings and I could show you a few basic techniques while the others aren't around." Suddenly my mind wanders away to picture Annie and me alone together as I teach her how to use a knife. My heart gives an excited flutter.

"I guess," she repeats, lacking any enthusiasm for my proposal. The flutter dies as quickly as it appears.

"So now will you go to training?" Eoghan asks, "Even if it is just to keep me company?"

"It's not like you needed my company today."

"I don't know, I was pretty grateful I could go and talk to you after trying to communicate with that girl from 2." He smiles up at her, grinning manically as he tries to force her to smile too, but it doesn't work.

She sighs. "Why does it have to be this way? I mean let's face it. We only have a limited number of days left to live and I would rather not be spending them pretending to be tougher than I am in some stifling gymnasium."

"Well it's up to you about the training," I say, "But you will have to be there for the personal session with the Gamemakers."

"Why? Because the world will fall apart otherwise? Because they won't be able to rate me and judge me and make me feel like I am worth less than I am?"

"No," I say quietly as I sit down next to her. "But they will make you do it." There is no way they would let a tribute get away with not going. It is required. They would probably send peacekeepers to herd her downstairs. We are playing in the Games now and they make the rules.

There is another pause of the kind I have learnt to expect within the walls of the Training Centre. I wait for someone else to break it.

"Well, you're right about one thing," Eoghan finally says, throwing himself down on the other side of Annie, "This isn't how we should be spending our last days."

He tries to sound light-hearted but there is a heaviness to the statement that I can't stand. I am not ready to consider the possibility that they won't come back. To me that simply isn't an option.

"Don't talk like that- either of you. You have to believe you are going to make it out. You have to give yourself a reason- something that means you have no choice but to get out alive, something to drive you onwards through the darkest days."

Another silence. I wonder what their reasons are. I know what mine are because they are right in front of me. I have to keep going because I have to bring them home.

"I just wish I wasn't so scared." Annie whispers. She leans back on the sofa, almost disappearing between the pair of us, her shoulders crumbling inward.

"Everyone's scared," Eoghan says. "Even District 2." It is easy to forget that. Easy to think of them as some kind of inhuman mutts that are nothing but ruthless killers but it is the fear which makes them kill.

It hits me then that even President Snow must be scared. Why else would he be so adamant to ruin everything I have? He is not just scared. He is scared of me.

Eoghan shifts to look down the sofa towards me. "We may all be scared but we're lucky because we have something they don't."

Silently Annie's hand slips into mine and she grips Eoghan's hand on her other side. In what I hope is a reassuring gesture I gently squeeze her hand. I hope it tells her that everything is going to be alright. I hope it stops her doubts from building up inside, even if it is just for a moment.

I don't know how long we sit together but it is as if time stands still. Even as the lights begin to fade outside I still refuse to let go. I don't want to be the first one to break the chain even though I know, sooner or later, something is going to tear us apart.


	52. Chapter 52

Suddenly my eyes snap open and I'm wide awake, my heart pounding. Something tells me I am being watched. At first I freeze, listening, but I hear nothing but my own breathing. Letting my eyes droop so they are barely open, I groggily turn over to face the door, never letting my eyes open so far that I can't feign sleep. Through the slither of light I let in I see a familiar shadow lurking in the doorway. I relax and allow my eyes to open fully.

"Annie?"

She draws back, hiding behind the doorframe. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"Are you alright?"

"I can't sleep anymore." I turn to look at the clock on my bedside table. It's 6:45am, I will have to get up soon anyway. Training is due to start at nine.

I look at the way she stands with her arms wrapped around her small body. Her nightdress only has short sleeves so her arms are completely bare. I can see her shivering. "You're cold."

"Not really," she says through chattering teeth.

"You are. Come here. Come on," I pat the top of the duvet, still too sleepy to move.

She holds back, clearly unsure, "You're not naked under there, are you?" she looks firmly down at the floor, unable to meet my eye "I mean, you do have pyjamas…?"

I can't help but laugh, "Well it wouldn't be a very gentlemanly offer if I didn't."

I lift up the corner of my duvet revealing my fully clothed body beneath. Satisfied I am not leading her into some sort of trap, Annie steps into the room and slithers in next to me. I can feel the cold spreading off her onto me as the icy soles of her feet are pressed against my leg. I reach round behind her to pull the duvet up then realise I practically have my arm around her. After adjusting the covers I let my hand sit on her shoulder. I wait for her to brush me away or to tell me to get off but she doesn't. She snuggles in to my chest, leaning her head on my shoulder. A second passes before I can breathe, as I wait for her to realise how completely awkward we should find this, how inappropriate it really is but the seconds slip away into minutes and still she stays there.

"I'm glad you're here," she finally says, "Eoghan didn't wake up."

Of course. Eoghan. That is who she really wanted to curl up next to because who could be safer than her older brother? I suppose, in the absence of Eoghan, I am the next best thing. That's probably how she sees me; just another brother to look out for her. After all, she has known me her whole life.

"Have you thought any more about the training session?"

"I've thought endlessly about it."

"And?"

"And that doesn't mean that I know what I'm doing."

She shifts slightly in my arms, moving upwards so her face is closer to mine. I can actually feel her breath on my cheek as she turns to talk to me.

"But I shouldn't worry," she continues, "When the time comes I'm sure I will do something."

She falls silent again, closing her eyes as she leans her head back. Maybe she will go back to sleep. She must be exhausted.

I wish I could keep my mind right here with Annie and think of nothing more than the expression on her face or how her body is pressed against mine but no matter how I try my mind wanders back home and, with home, to Hake. I don't like him- I don't even know him- not really- but just knowing that he is back in District 4 makes my stomach squirm. Maybe it is jealousy because he has her and I don't but, for some reason, I think it is something more than that. I think it is guilt.

"What would Hake think if he could see us now?" I wish I didn't feel as though I had to say it. Maybe she had forgotten about him, maybe she was just enjoying being with me. I had to ask, though because I know that nagging feeling won't leave me alone unless I do. Even if I don't particularly want to know the answer, even if I don't want to remind her.

She moves her head so she is facing me again. "It doesn't matter what he thinks." She pauses for a second before adding, "I broke it off."

"What?"

"I didn't want him to have to go through it all so I ended it. If I could save everyone from that then I would. There is nothing worse than watching someone you love fighting to the death on that screen and then to be interviewed about it."

"Annie…" Is she talking about me? That was so long ago now. She was so young. I have never really thought at length about what it is really like back in District 4 for the families. Before my Games it didn't seem important and since I have been too much in the thick of it all to know otherwise.

"Hopefully he can be spared that at least."

"Was it really that bad?"

"We thought you were going to die," her voice has dropped to a whisper. "I just remember feeling so powerless and they kept asking all these questions and I didn't know what to say." She isn't looking at me anymore but she has gripped hold of my t-shirt, as if she is still afraid she is going to lose me. "I had known you for my whole life. I couldn't imagine not knowing you anymore. I couldn't put Hake through that. Besides, I don't want to belong to him when I - If I die-because then I will always belong to him and he will never be free of me. I want him to be happy and to not feel as though… as though he owes me something."

"But he'll still be waiting for you. He still expects you to come back to him?" I remember the look on his face on Reaping day, the tears in his eyes, the way he asked me to bring her back. He definitely saw the separation as only temporary.

"Maybe I will." She still doesn't think she is coming back. I know she doesn't. She already feels defeated. My stomach tightens

The thought suddenly strikes me that I would prefer for her to belong to Hake and live to a hundred by his side than to belong to no one and never come home. It would break my heart to see them together but that would hurt a lot less than feeling her memory slowly disappear to nothing inside me, for her face to be forgotten forever. At least that way I could still see her, still talk to her every day, still share some part of my life with her.

"You know, he actually seemed alright."

Annie bursts out laughing, "You are such a bad liar."

_Bring, bring. Bring, bring. _

As I stretch towards the phone she lifts herself off my chest and a channel opens up down the middle as she moves over to one side of the bed and I am forced towards the other. The warmth we had created between us is replaced by a cold draught.

"Hello?"

"There is a car waiting for you outside. Be there within the next ten minutes," a firm voice says then the line goes dead.

"Who was that?"

"I'm needed downstairs."

"What for?"

"Snow wants to see me."

"Why?"

"I guess he just enjoyed my company the other night."

I force myself to leave the warmth of the bed and the possibility of spending more time with Annie to go to the wardrobe. I take out the first things that come to hand and wearily begin removing my pyjamas.

"Finnick!" Annie screeches, burying her head in the duvet. "I'm still here!"

"Sorry, sorry!" I smile. It has been a long time since anyone has cared about my nakedness. I pull on my underwear. "It's all right now. I'm decent."

She shyly looks up from the duvet, checking to see that I am telling the truth. "When will you be back?"

"I dunno. Later." I button up my shirt as quickly as I can then pull on some trousers and slip my feet into my shoes, not even stopping to tie them. "Will you tell Mags where I have gone?"

"Yeah, sure…. Good luck."

As I dash for the elevator I run my fingers through my hair. How long has it been since I got the phone call? Five minutes? seven? Ten? Longer? I have to wiat for the elevator to reach the fourth floor and it seems to take an imposisbly long time. I press the button three times in frustration. I can't keep them waiting downstairs. They told me to be down in ten minutes so I had better be down in ten minutes. Finally the doors open.

"Where are you going?" Eoghan calls to me, peering out of his bedroom door.

"Got a hot date," I tell him as I step into the elevator.

"At seven in the morning?"

"Ask Annie about it- I've got to go. I'll see you after training. Ask Mags if you have any questions- she is the expert, after all."

"Sure, sure. Let me know if she has any friends," Eoghan shouts to me as the doors close. I give him a quick salute by way of a reply. I don't know if Snow has any friends but if he does I am pretty sure they are not Eoghan's type.

Once again a dark limousine takes me to the president's mansion but unlike last time I am taken there without an escort. The journey is not a long one but it gives me enough time to ready myself for what is to come. Perhaps the President is finally going to reveal what he wants me for.

When the car pulls up outside the mansion I am taken up to the first floor but instead of going straight to the president I am directed to a secluded room that I haven't seen before.

"What-"

"The President thought you'd require a little _preparation _before today's activities."

The door opens and a team of fluttering stylists and assistants descend upon me. They push me into a chair and I hardly have a chance to catch my breath before one begins trimming my hair, another dunks both my hands into a small bowl and a third starts spreading powder across my face.

"What's going on?"

"You need to be camera ready by nine."

"What for?"

But they either can't tell me or won't. They preen me like they preen the tributes for the Games. I wonder what cause I am going to be offered up for this time. They pull off my clothes and scrutinise every inch of me in a way I am sure is not entirely necessary. They speak at me as though I am only sometimes there.

"Oh Finnick, my uncle, you know- _the designer_- he is having a pre-Games party and he would just love it if you could attend. You have been a real inspiration to him this year."

I don't have a chance to answer before another descends upon me. "I couldn't believe it when I saw you at the Opening Ceremonies this year. What an honour to appear on the President's balcony."

"Your tributes looked absolutely gorgeous. You must be so proud of them."

I am about to reply when one of them pulls up a strand of my hair and presses it against her cheek, "See, this is the colour I want my hair to be."

"It is all the rage right now," another agrees.

By the time they are done with me I am ready to walk out but when I stand up to go I am just guided into an adjoining room where a number of suits are hanging from a rail. They measure several up against me, making comments about the different colours. They eventually decide upon a charcoal grey because 'it is due a comeback' and they force me into it.

"Almost done, just one final touch"

A white rose is pinned onto my lapel and then the whole room of them stand back to admire their work.

The door swings open and a small woman carrying a clipboard steps inside the room. "If you would like to follow me, Mr Odair."

"Please tell me you are going to explain what I am doing here."

"This way." She takes me into yet another room and she sits down in one of the large armchairs and begins to shuffle through her papers. I perch on the nearest chair, looking around, half expecting another twenty people with clipboards to come bursting into the room. After the buzz of the stylists everything feels strangely subdued.

"Am I appearing on camera?"

"I've got your schedule right here," she says scanning the pages on her clipboard. "Right, first of all the President is going to make a speech then he is going to present you with your award and-"

"Award?"

"The Ribbon of Honour for services to the state. After that you need to thank the President and you will-"

"Pardon?"

She sighs in exasperation. "Do try to keep up."

"But I'm not meant to receive an award."

"Why do you think you are here?"

I begin to try and explain that I know nothing about this but then I realise that I am obviously expected to pretend that I do, at least in front of the preparation team.

"You mean it's not to seduce you?"

She frowns. "Right… I suggest you have a look over these notes then I will escort you out to the balcony. After you receive the award you will have an interview in the west suite. If you are uncertain of what to say at any point the President has prepared an autocue to provide you with some guidance of what is expected." She slides the clipboard across the coffee table towards me. "I will return in ten minutes."

I slowly look through the pages, trying to take in every piece of information. By the time I reach the bottom of the first page I understand Snow's plan. If anyone truly suspected me of working for the Praetorians they won't by the end of today.

I read through the information again and again, I think over the situation but I can't think of a way out. I can't think of anything I can say to make it better. Snow has me exactly where he wants me.


	53. Chapter 53

I can't see the crowd below but I can hear them. President Snow steps forward towards the front of the balcony where a buzzing microphone has been placed. As he comes into view the steady ripple of the crowd swells into cheers and then, at his slightest gesture, falls into complete silence. I can feel the anticipation in the air as he slowly opens his mouth to speak.

"There are people who wish to threaten the safety and freedom of this land through dangerous and ill-conceived attacks. They wish to spread fear with unlawful crimes against humanity. These organisations think they will make us bend to their will because we feel threatened. I have one thing I want to say to them 'we are not afraid'. We stand united in our front against these individuals and, as long as we do so, they shall not touch us.

"Though we stand together in this fight we have gathered today to honour one who has risen above the rest to defend us. It is not every day that an individual puts aside his own safety to help his fellow man but we are fortunate enough to witness such an event. We are fortunate enough to be the presence of such a man. Not only did his actions save the lives of many but it also saved our way of life. It is for this great deed that I wish to celebrate Finnick Odair by presenting him with a Ribbon of Honour First Class for services to the state."

He finishes and the crowd begins to roar. He has made me out to sound like a real hero. He told me I had influence before, I can't imagine to what level my influence has grown now. I feel sick to my stomach. As I stand before this cheering crowd, expected to bask in the glory they bestow on me, I know the people in the districts will be appalled, and rightly so. This act of heroism is a stab in the back of the Praetorians, it is a betrayal of the people I belong to because by helping Snow it is as if I somehow condone his actions. They won't know I am being forced to do this, they will just see the arrogant jerk that they want me to be.

I step forward to the front of the balcony and get my first glimpse of the crowds below. Unlike when they gathered for the Opening Ceremonies there is no channel to separate the crowd so they stand in an endless sea of faces below us. I wonder, if I told them now to storm the mansion, how many of them would blindly follow me. Do they even know why they are cheering? Are they brainless just as they appear to be faceless?

Snow takes the medal from his breast pocket then slowly and deliberately pins it onto my jacket alongside the white rose. The crowd breaks out into a new eruption of applause. I just about manage a nod towards them as I step up towards the microphone.

"Thank you, I am sure that any one of you would have reacted in the same way. I am proud to support my people in this way."

I know the ambiguity of my statement is not lost on Snow. I just hope someone, somewhere understands that I have not turned my back on the rebellion, that Snow owns only my body and that he will never have my mind.

Snow directs me inside for the live interview. Behind us the crowd continues to cheer, stamping their feet in a thunderous salute. These are not my people. My people would never applaud me standing at Snow's side.

The West Suite is like a large sitting room where a white sofa and chairs has been set up at one end leaving enough space for cameras to manoeuvre in the rest of the space. I sit on the sofa while they attach microphones to me and set up the equipment.

"I trust that you are clear on what you need to say?" Snow says, pointedly leaning over me.

"If I'm not I can always check the autocue," I say with a sarcastic smile as he steps away.

Maxima Headley steps into the room and positions herself opposite me in one of the chairs, ready for the interview. She is well known in the Capitol for conducting serious interviews with politicians and other leaders. Clearly I, a simple boy from District 4, have not been interviewed by her before but suddenly I am considered important enough, suddenly I am meant to make a difference in this game. I suppose Caesar is too busy with all the upcoming Hunger Games interviews to do this as well, but I think I would have preferred it; at least the pair of us have built up some kind of rapport over the years.

"Hi, Finnick," she says with a ridiculously large grin. Her teeth are studded with small gems that catch the light and make them sparkle. She offers me her hand to shake. "Just try to relax," she says, holding my hand in hers for a little too long.

The man behind the camera begins to count down. "Five, four, three…" he shows two fingers, then one and the red light shows. We are on air.

As Maxima begins her introduction to the programme I try to gather my thoughts. I have read all the notes; I know exactly what Snow wants me to say. The trick is going to be to make it sound natural.

"So Finnick," Maxima says, finally turning towards me, "I'm sure the people at home are keen to hear the exact details of why you received the medal today. Could you tell us, in your own words, exactly how you prevented the attack on the tunnel?"

"Yes," I begin; I glance up at the autocue. "I had been working undercover at the heart of the Praetorians for some years now," the words don't belong to me and somehow my voice no longer seems to either. "So obviously I have had a certain amount of information available to me, including the plans for the attack on the tunnel."

"How exactly did you fall into this line of work?"

"It was a few years after I won the Games when I was approached by Praetorians who were keen to use me as part of their plans. I didn't have much choice but to agree to work with them- I was so very young and I didn't really know what I was walking into. Fortunately, soon after I was recruited, I was also approached by a member of the Special Forces team. My position within the Praetorians made me a perfect spy for the government. The Praetorians thought I was completely under their control, after all. I guess I just have the sort of face you can trust." I wink, just as the autocue tells me to do.

I read every word, exactly as it is written. Part of me hopes that people will see through it, that they understand what I am being forced to do. I wish I could deviate from the script, be more creative with what I say but I daren't risk too much because the President still stands in the corner of the room, watching me closely, waiting for me to slip up.

"And what sort of work did the Praetorians want you for?" Maxima continues.

"I think they wanted me to become the face of the rebellion- to try and convince more people to join them."

"But you didn't want such a position?"

When I see the answer on the autocue my stomach lurches but I force myself to say it, "No, I'm Snow's man, through and through." And that is what this is all about it. What better way to stop me being the face of the rebellion than to make me the face of Snow's campaign?

"So what sort of work were you doing to try and deter the Praetorians?"

"Mostly passing information- giving names of members, details of future plans, sometimes I found other ways to deter them- small ways to stop their plans advancing."

"So how did you find out about the planned attack on the tunnel?"

_Because I came up with it_. "Let's just say some members of the group were not as discreet as they should be. So I passed on the information to prevent the attack. That is why this year's Hunger Games needed to be moved forward- as the plan was to attack the tunnel on the day of the Reaping"

"I see. Now, I understand, that you no longer are adopting this double identity?"

"No, I'm not."

"Why is that?"

"Unfortunately it is no longer an option for me since I was betrayed."

"Could you tell us some more about that?"

I pause before I reply as I struggle to take in the words that appear on the autocue. The operator nods at me encouragingly and my eyes drift across to Snow. His thick lips spread into a smile. He knows how much I will hate to say this. It may already look like I have betrayed my people but if I say this I am betraying my friend.

It must be survival instincts taking over. It is like being in the arena again. I have no choice except to oblige or to face my possible death. I hate every word I say, I hate myself for doing it but I don't want to die.

"There was another double agent working for the Praetorians. I thought she was on our side but I was wrong. She planned the attack on the tunnel using information from her position in government. When she heard that the plan was revealed she knew it was me so she gave me up to the Praetorians."

"And how did she know it was you?"

"She had gained my trust. I thought she was on our side. I was not as discreet as I should have been. I am lucky I got out alive."

"And since then you have been instrumental in the arrest of this double agent." Maxima raises her finger to the receiver on her ear and nods her head as someone speaks into it, "We are now able to reveal this double agent to be the former head of surveillance Hydra Callow, who this month is facing trial for treason." She turns back towards me "The pair of you were very close, weren't you?"

For once I don't have to lie. "Yes, we were very close."

"Will you be giving evidence against her at the trial?"

The autocue says 'yes' but I am reluctant to say it. She is my friend. I don't want to have a part in sentencing her. I don't want to have to condemn her in front of the whole of Panem. There will be no way of pulling her back from this fate, just like I have no way of preventing my own, or Annie's or Eoghan's. If I say yes now I could be sending another person to their death. I don't know what I can say to make it better. As I try to think panic sets in. I don't know how long I have sat here thinking it over. It must be quite a long time because Maxima repeats the question.

"Will you be a witness for the prosecution?"

My thought processes haven't even finished before my mouth takes over. "Yes. I will." I look up again at the autocue, "She was my friend but what she did was inexcusable." I guess self-preservation will always win over friendship.

The rest of the interview passes in a blur. My jaw aches by the end of it, the lies falling heavily on the muscles and the bones click where my invisible puppeteer worked the strings. There will be no doubt in anyone's mind. I am Snow's man. I am the face of the oppressors.

When the interview is over I am led away to another room and Snow joins me once more. "I am very pleased with your performance today," he says, "But I wonder if you can keep it up for tonight?" he raises an eyebrow.

I know exactly what he means. He wants to sell me again. After all, a wise butcher when he slaughters a pig will find a way to use every part of the carcass.

"I won't do it." I can't go back there again. Not now. Not on top of everything else. I am supposed to be free. I am supposed to be untouchable.

"But Finnick, you owe me your life."

"I owe you nothing."

"But your friends…"

"My friends could be dead in two weeks. There isn't a lot more you can do to them now. And I'm too important for you to kill now. You need me. Kill me and you kill the face of your government. If you want me to do that I have to have a reason and right now I don't."

I don't wait for a reply. I have had enough. The day is almost over. I am tired. I have betrayed everyone, especially myself. All I want now is to be with my friends. For my face and body to be no one's but my own... except perhaps... I smile my first genuine smile since entering Snow's mansion.


	54. Chapter 54

I step into the elevator and run my fingers down all the buttons so they glow green. I am in no hurry to return to the fourth floor. I know they would have seen it. All of Panem saw it. I just wish, somehow, there was a way I could have kept it separate so I could focus on what needs to be done. Tonight we should be talking about the second day of training, about strategy. I shouldn't have to ask Annie if she returned to training. I should just know. I shouldn't have to ask Eoghan about the alliance. I should have been there watching it progress. Mags and I should be discussing the outfits with the stylists, we should be thinking of angles and plans and creative ways to get sponsors and help them survive. We should not have to discuss political motivations.

The doors open and I get a brief glimpse at the lobby on the first floor. Unsurprisingly there is no sign of either the mentors or the tributes. I expect they have all gone to bed. I have been out all day. I have no doubt that Cashmere and Gloss are doing a better job at mentoring than me. Slowly the doors close again, shutting me out of their all too perfect and simple situation. Why are things never that easy for me?

I hope the others haven't waited up for me. With any luck I will be able to slip into bed unnoticed and not have to face the fallout until tomorrow.

The second floor. I hear angry voices shouting at each other from the other side of the door. I can't tell who it is. As the elevator doors begin to close I hear the sound of something shattering. A door opens along the corridor and I get the briefest glimpse of Enobaria. I am pleased when the elevator carries me upward.

The third floor is as quiet as the first. The door at the end of the corridor stands ajar and light pours out but there is not a whisper to be heard. I imagine it is just someone sleeping with the light on. It would not be unusual when so much could be lurking in the darkness.

When I finally reach the fourth floor I tell myself that I have to get out, that I have to face whatever it is that is about to come. My body lurches forward but my legs won't move. They remain rooted to the spot and I just stand staring into the lobby. I have spent the whole day wishing I could be here but now that I am I don't think I can face it. I press the button that automatically closes the doors and feel relieved when they open again on the fifth floor.

Yet still I don't step out into the lobby. I let the elevator carry me up and up right to the twelfth floor where the it stops. It stands there, suspended, as it waits for me to respond. I can either press the buttons again and be whisked back down to the fourth floor or I can step out and remain on the twelfth.

There is nothing about the twelfth floor lobby that tells me I should stay but it seems infinitely more inviting than the thought of returning to the fourth floor. I step out onto the carpet, unsure of what to do next. I peer down the corridor but there is no light to direct me, no voices to follow. I turn to step back into the elevator and that's when I notice the stairs.

Letting my feet lead the way I climb them and when I open the door of the dome-shaped room at the top I step out into the cool night air. Finally I can breathe. I didn't realise how much I just needed to breathe in some fresh air. I draw in a deep breath, everything feels a bit freer in the open air.

Lights cover the view beneath the empty sky. It is as if the usual stars that fill my skies have fallen down to cover the surface of the Capitol, like the reflection on the water.

As I step forward to the railing I could almost be back on Snow's balcony. For every light out there, there is a person who believes I work for Snow. For every light out there, there is a person who thinks I am a hero. For every light there is a person who believes the lie. I wish these lights would just return to the sky.

I look down at my lapel where the medal and the rose sit side by side. I pluck the rose off and throw it to the floor, grounding it beneath my shoe. Then I fumble with the clasp on the medal, tearing my jacket in my eagerness to separate myself from Snow's brand. I hold it in my palm and gently turn it over. My name has been engraved into it alongside the Capitol seal. But I don't belong to them; I do not belong to them. Yet, for as long as I have this medal, it will be as if I do. People will see it and remember. I don't want to remember how I had to betray them. I don't want to think about it at all.

I look up and face the lights again. They own this lie; let them have the medal too. I swing back my arm and throw it out into the night, hoping that it will disappear into the ether where I will never find it again.

There is a clank as the medal hits the ground by my feet. Somehow, it is back again. It must have hit the railings. I pick it up again and throw it, making sure I direct it high enough this time. I watch it as it sails away then swiftly boomerangs back towards me. Don't they understand that I don't want it? Don't they understand that it isn't mine? I throw it again and again but it always comes back, reminding me that it doesn't really matter how far I try to separate myself from this, it will still haunt me. It is not something I can just step away from and forget about.

I am stuck. Completely stuck and there is nothing I can do about it. There is no escape. I lean forward on the railings as a primeval cry expels from my lips. It isn't meant to be like this. I was supposed to be free. I was supposed to be happy right now, living a peaceful life back home with my two best friends. I shake the railings in frustration. I should be anywhere but here.

"Those Force fields, eh?" a slightly slurred voice says.

I quickly turn, standing upright. Haymitch is stood at the doorway near the dome. His footsteps thump across the tiled floor as he goes across to the medal, bends down and scoops it up into his hand, turning it over with his fingers.

"Horrible thing, isn't it?" He slowly looks up to scrutinise me. I get the impression he is looking for the truth. Eventually he says, "Don't blame you for wanting to be rid of it."

"I don't belong to him." I have to be sure he knows that. I couldn't stand for him to think otherwise.

"You might as well." He walks across to me. I can smell the liquor on his breath as he tips the medal into my hand. "What difference does it make? You are doing the job either way."

"I don't believe in it."

"But they do." He shrugs, "People genuinely like you, which is more than can be said for most, of course he was going to use it against you. If you gained any more favour with the people you'd be able to take over as president yourself."

"That's not what I want."

"Doesn't matter. He has to know he can control you. If you are on the same side they will have no reason to oppose him."

"I'm not on his side!" Haymitch must know that. Of all people he has to understand. He has known me long enough now to know I could never be on his side- that I could never truly work for Snow.

Haymitch shrugs again.

"I had to do it. I can't lose anyone else."

"See, that's your problem," he points a finger casually towards me, waving it around as if he is struggling to keep it still. "You care too much."

"I don't see what else I can do." I look down at the medal. The ribbon is frayed, slightly singed along the edges where it hit the force field. I stuff it into my pocket. "It's going to be awful, isn't it?"

"You reap what you sow. Or should I say 'you only catch what you hold bait out for'."

He thinks I deserve this, that I somehow called it on myself. "So you're saying I should just stop caring?" But I didn't ask for this. It was not through choice that I love them. "Maybe become a bitter old alcoholic like you?"

"Hey- Less of the old!" he grumbles. He staggers across the roof, his back is to me as he shrugs again, "It's a way to survive."

"I don't want to just survive."

"We've got to get out alive somehow."

"But I want to live. Really live."

Haymitch leans back against the railings, folding his arms across his chest. "Then live the consequences."

I guess he's right. I can't have it every way. The next few days are going to be even more terrible than I anticipated but nothing will be gained from hiding away from it. I need to make the most of these final days with my friends.

I go back towards the dome and pull open the door.

"Where are you going?" Haymitch yells.

"I'm going to live," I tell him.

I half run down the stairs. It may be the middle of the night but I have to explain to them, I have to make them see. Somehow.

The elevator can't move fast enough down to the fourth floor. Every second feels like an age. The wait when the elevator travels between the fifth and fourth floor is so long that I am convinced it has broken down, that I will be stuck here for the rest of the night and will never get to sort things out. When the doors finally open I charge down the hallway and catapult myself into Eoghan's bedroom.

He is nothing more than a faceless mound beneath the sheets but the moment I switch on the light he begins to stir.

"What's going on?"

"Eoghan," I hiss, throwing myself onto the bed next to him.

"Finnick? What are you doing?"

"I've come to explain myself."

"Couldn't it wait until morning?" he turns over, his eyes struggling to open in the bright light.

"I thought you would be mad at me."

"Well I am now."

"But the medal, the interview…"

"Yeah, I know, you're an idiot." Lifting his hand up to shield his face, he finally opens his eyes and looks at me. "Can't we talk about this in the morning?"

"No, I have to tell you now."

Eoghan lets out a groan. "Go on then," sleepily he sits up in bed. His hair is stuck up in odd angles at the front and a pattern has been printed across his sheet where he has leant on the creases in the pillowcase. He rubs his eyes and finally he looks as though he might be awake enough to listen.

"Did you see it?"

"Yeah… Did you really stop that attack?"

"No. I planned it."

He frowns, "What exactly is going on?"

So I tell him; all about the Praetorians, all about Snow finding out about my involvement, all about how he is using me to keep control in the Capitol. I tell him about Hydra and her arrest and the big mess I have got myself into. I almost tell him about the clients, about having to sell myself but every time I get close the words just won't come out so I skirt around it and cover the gaps with sweeping statements.

"So it's because of you that the Reaping was brought forward."

"Yeah."

"I was meant to be too old this year."

"I know."

He draws in a deep breath and for a moment I think he is going to snap at me but he doesn't. He lets out his breath in a long and weary sigh, "I suppose, at least this way I can look after Annie."

"Yeah… I'm sorry, though."

"It's not your fault. You were just trying to make a difference." He pauses. "When I get out, I want to make a difference too. We can't let them keep doing this." He lets out a yawn, his tiredness catching up with him again. "Who knows, maybe you being Snow's new best friend will have its advantages."

"Yeah… maybe."

"Now, you reckon we can have some sleep?"

"Yeah. Sure."

Eoghan turns out the light then throws the duvet over me and we lie down next to each other in the double bed.

"Funny," I say as I settle down.

"What?"

"I started the day in bed with one Cresta and now I end it in bed with the other."

"What! What did you do to Annie?"

"A gentleman never tells," I say mysteriously.

"Oh, you'll tell," he says, "If you know what's good for you, you'll tell."


	55. Chapter 55

I tiptoe out of Eoghan's bed and go to the sitting room where a familiar glow tells me that Mags is already up and waiting. She is sat in the large armchair flicking through a book by the light of a lamp. Outside the window it is still dim as the morning struggles to break through the clouds of fog. As I step into her line of vision she looks up.

"Who's that come to see me? It can't be the great Finnick Odair. Surely not? Surely he has no time to spend with an old lady like me. Lucky he was on the television yesterday, otherwise I might have thought he had disappeared."

"Sorry it's just-"

"I know," she smiles, "But you have been missed."

I sit down opposite her on the sofa, putting my feet up on the cushions. I am so exhausted I could just fall back asleep if I let myself but I have more important things to do. I can sleep when this is over. How many times have I told myself that this week? When this is over, when this is over, when this is over only one of them will be left.

"What are we going to do about today? Did Annie go back to training?" I shouldn't have to ask. This is the sort of thing I should just know. It is that which bothers me most. I haven't seen her in twenty four hours. I haven't had a chance to speak to her, to ask her how her day has been, to see how she is doing. For some reason a day seems an impossibly long time to be apart.

"Yes, she started learning some traps."

"Is it going to be enough?" Are the Gamemakers impressed by traps? They have their merits certainly as they can be used for food or as a defence but trapping victims is just not the same as slicing them to pieces or skewering them to death.

Mags closes her book and places it down on the table. "Depends on what you want."

"At least a seven." Any less and the Careers would dismiss her immediately. At least a seven is respectable. I have kept them both mysterious and that is all very well but the alliance will be looking for reassurance that they are not all just a load of hot air. They need to see something more than Eoghan's gift of the gab.

"Then it's not going to be enough." She pushes herself up and gets to her feet, shuffling over towards the window. "Can't sit down too long else I'll seize up. Need to keep the body and mind moving."

I follow her across the room. We stand together near the largest window watching as the city begins to appear through the murky morning light. "Is there nothing we can do?" I ask. Surely she must be able to think of something. Surely after all these years she must have a solution to this, a way of figuring it out.

"We only have this morning left."

"Then we have to make every second count." There is no question about that, what I don't know is what we can do to make the most of our limited time. "Is there nothing we could teach her to defend herself with? Some weapon she might be able to pick up?"

"We could try. We would have to take her out of group training and use one of the practice rooms."

"Then that's what we do."

"And Eoghan?" She asks.

"We'll bring him too; I want to see what he has planned."

* * *

><p>Around the room basic equipment has been set up, there is not the variety of the gymnasium but it should be enough. I watch Annie as we move to the centre of the floor. She is completely dwarfed by the room. The high walls and ceiling just seem to swallow her up. Eoghan, however, seems to fill the space. He stretches his arms and breathes in the stench of sweat and hard work that clings to everything. Like me, like many of the tributes, he seems just a little too comfortable with the situation.<p>

"Right," Mags says, "I think we should start by seeing what both of you are planning to do this afternoon."

"Right," Eoghan nods, "I'll go first."

Mags, Annie and I all step back out of the way and watch as Eoghan goes straight for the rack of weapons. He carefully looks down them, taking in the full choice, and then selects the trident- a weapon that has been increasingly more present in the gymnasium and in the arenas since my victory. What I don't understand is why Eoghan would select that weapon. He only has basic knowledge of the trident- just a few pointers that I showed him in the last year. It certainly isn't his strongest choice.

He takes it over to the dummy and begins sweeping it round his body, trying to slash the front of it as though he is using a sword then using the prongs to stab. There is almost no fluidity to his actions as he struggles to manoeuvre it. At times he jabs with a strange ferocity which just throws him off balance. By the end of five minutes the dummy is in rags but I can't help but feel that it wouldn't be had the fight not been so one-sided. Eoghan turns towards us, obviously finished.

"Eoghan…?" I begin, "Why did you choose the trident?"

"Why wouldn't I? I've used one before."

I turn towards Mags who is looking just as confused as me. "Finnick," she says, "How about the pair of you have a go at combat?"

"Yeah, why not," Eoghan says, rubbing his hands together enthusiastically, clearly ready to put me in my place.

We suit up in the padded outfits that the trainers usually wear and I take a sword from the rack. It is a weapon I have only had basic training in but I am pretty sure I will still be able to use it to demonstrate my point.

We stand square to each other as Mags counts down from five, four, three, two, one…

Eoghan lurches towards me; I hit the end of the trident with the hilt of sword. It comes clattering to the ground.

"Whoops," Eoghan says.

"Yeah, Whoops."

"Let's have another go," he says picking up the trident.

"All right."

Mags counts down again. This time Eoghan holds back slightly, waiting for me to strike first. I sweep the sword round towards his side. He awkwardly tries to turn the trident to block my movement but he can't quite get it round before I hit him.

His face hardens in frustration, as he tries to fight back. Yet every turn, every sweep, every step just provides me with another opening to strike him.

"I think we've seen enough," Mags says.

Eoghan lets the trident fall to the ground at his feet. "I guess I'm just having an off day," he says.

"No, it's not that." This is not an off day. It is just the wrong weapon for him to use. If he shows this to the Gamemakers he will get a low score, they will surely see through his lack of ability. If he does this in the arena then he will be dead. "Eoghan, why are you really using a trident?"

He shrugs, "It worked for you."

"But you're not Finnick," Annie says quietly.

"She's right, nobody has ever won trying to imitate somebody else, you have to find your own way," Mags says. "What are you really good at?"

"Blades," I say before Eoghan even has a chance to answer. He has used a knife from a young age. To gut fish, to strip the bark off sticks, I have seen him whittle intricate designs into wood and coal. He would sit there with a shapeless piece of matter one minute then, little by little, it would be completely transformed. And it didn't just end there. My father would have us practice with wooden swords on the beach. It didn't matter that he kept me on a tight regime whereas Eoghan's training was sporadic at best. It didn't matter that my father had taught me to fight from a young age. If Eoghan chose to join in the training, and one of the wooden swords was in his hand, he could beat me.

"I've never used a real one," Eoghan says.

"It's just the same, only the weight is different," I tell him. I pass the sword I had been using across to Eoghan and he weighs it in his hand, giving it a few practice swings.

He kicks the trident towards me with his toe, "Go on then," he says, "Let's try this."

I grip the trident in my hands. Whereas the sword felt bulky and unwieldy the trident feels comfortable. We belong together.

Mags gives us the countdown and the battle begins. We may be the same two people as before, the same two weapons may be in play but the battle couldn't be more different. We lunge and parry and jab in perfect time with each other, each movement I make Eoghan has an exact counter action to oppose it. His expression turns from one of uncertainty to one of assurance. Neither of us can get in an exact strike to beat the other. We are two sides of the same coin, perfectly matched, almost to a fault.

Mags lets it run on for about ten minutes then tells us both to stop. I stagger back, exhausted but exhilarated.

"You have to show them that," I tell him. Show the Gamemakers that and there is no doubt that they will be impressed.

"All right," he says grinning. "I mean, I almost had you there."

"Yeah right. You're lucky it's illegal for me to cause you damage."

"Just you wait, I'll get a better score than you did. Then everyone will know who's better."

Mags pointedly takes the trident and sword from our hands and returns them to the racks. "I think that's enough of that." She says, and then she turns to Annie, "Why don't you show us what you have?"

Annie nods and quietly goes over to where some rope has been left ready for practice and sits down. She deftly begins twisting the rope in familiar ways. Mentally I make each knot with her, follow every loop and every cross. She quietly sets up her trap- one capable of catching a grown man within a net suspended in the air. The look of concentration on her face is very intense. Everything she does is very precise, exact to the nearest millimetre. At the moment when she decides to test it, the mechanism springs right on cue and it works perfectly, just as it was supposed to.

She turns apologetically towards us, "That's all I've got. Sorry," She looks down at the floor, clutching at her sleeves, pulling them awkwardly over her hands.

"Why are you apologising?" Eoghan says, "That was amazing. It was, wasn't it?" He turns to Mags and me, waiting for us to give further confirmation.

"Yes," Mags agrees. "It was."

"But it's not enough, is it?" Annie says, "I don't really have a way of defending myself."

"Is there nothing that you could use?" I ask her.

She looks around the practice room; I watch her gaze as it moves from the blades to the long range weapons, to the weights, to bludgeoning weapons. Then she shakes her head. "I don't know how."

Eoghan goes across to the blades and pulls out a short but very sharp looking knife. He holds it out towards her, "You could use this. We could show you a couple of moves, that's all you need really."

"I don't want to. I don't want to kill anybody."

"But you have to," Eoghan says.

"No, I don't. I don't have to play their games," She turns away from us and her wall of defence builds up around her. She can be so stubborn. If this is what she has decided I don't see how we can change her mind.

"But they will kill you!" Eoghan shouts, desperation in his voice, as he struggles to knock down the wall. "You have to at least try. You can't just give up."

It is everything I want to say to her. She has to try. She can't just give up already. I'm not ready to say goodbye. Not yet.

"I'm not giving up. I'm just not going to kill anyone."

"Well no one can make you. You have to play this game on your own terms," Mags says. Both Eoghan and I try to protest but she raises her hand and both of us fall silent. She must have thought of something, some way of changing Annie's mind. "But right now you need to show something to the Gamemakers that will give you a good score. If you aren't going to kill anyone you'll need to get the sponsors behind you."

Eoghan and I exchange glances. At least she is giving a compelling argument. Maybe this way Annie will at least learn some basic skills to defend herself and then, when fight or flight sets in and the adrenaline takes over, she will be able to use it. I don't for a second believe that she is really just going to give up. It is easy to say you won't kill now but when put in that situation anything and everything changes. It is no longer about what you want to happen; it is about what has to happen.

"All right," she says. "But only for the Gamemakers."

So we spend the rest of the morning trying her out with different weapons. She shows some promise with a dagger and after Mags runs a few basic manoeuvres and instructs her on stance she is able to fend off Eoghan and me for a few minutes. It isn't much but at least it's something.

At least District 4 should be able to put on a reasonable show.

Mags dismisses them and they head off to join the other tributes in the dining room. I call to them before they leave. "Remember, it is as much showmanship as it is skills."

* * *

><p>We sit on the sofa, Eoghan to my left and Annie to my right. Mags sits in the chair. All of us just sit, staring at the blank television screen, waiting for it to come to life.<p>

The silence is broken when the anthem blares and Caesar gives a brief introduction to this year's games.

"This is it," Eoghan says nervously.

I can feel Annie's whole body tense next to mine. She told us that her individual session went well but she has been on edge ever since, never quite meeting our eyes, never answering our questions with more than the shortest answer. When Eoghan asked her if she used the dagger all she could do was nod.

The face of the boy tribute from District 1 shows up first followed by a flashing 9. The girl from 1 receives a 10. The scores seem to be whizzing by so quickly I hardly have time to write them down next to the notes I have already taken. Both tributes from District 2 receive tens. No surprise there. District 3 also follows tradition with the boy scoring a 5 and the girl a 6.

The seal for District 4 appears on screen. Eoghan grips hold of the arm of the sofa, bracing himself for what is to come. His picture appears on screen. Followed by a…. nine! He breathes a sigh of relief.

"What did you get?" he asks me.

"A ten," I tell him smugly. I knew he wouldn't be able to beat me. After all, I have the best bottom in Panem and that in itself, was worth the extra point.

"Cocky bastard," he says, giving me a playful shove.

We turn back towards the screen just as Annie's picture appears. I turn to smile at her, hoping to reassure her it is going to be all right. She offers me a grimace in return just as a six comes up on the screen.

"I'm sorry." She says. "I couldn't do more, though. I tried to pretend but I'm just not very good at it. I can't pretend to be someone I'm not. I can't be someone I'm not. "

"We don't want you to be," because really, I wouldn't change a single thing about her. She leans her head onto my shoulder with a sigh.

I had hoped for more. I had hoped that our training and Mags' ideas might have turned things around completely but I guess it is a bit naïve to believe that miracles can happen. I just hope it doesn't affect the alliance.

"Don't worry Annie," Eoghan says, "I'm going to be there the whole time. No one will be able to mess with the force of the older brother." As he says it, he pointedly looks across at me. "You make sure you sleep in your own bed tonight."


	56. Chapter 56

Johanna barges her way into the room, bypasses both Annie and Eoghan and heads straight for me. "I swear I'm going to murder that girl! She hasn't got a clue! Not a clue!" She throws the pile of clothes and shoes from off the chair and collapses into it. "How are things going here?"

Eoghan narrows his eyes, "Like we would tell you, you're from seven."

We have spent the whole day running through possible interview questions, ideas for strategies, the right way to sit, the right way to stand, to walk, to talk. The four of us agreed to remain mysterious, where possible, to leave the audience with a hint that there is more for them to see. Hopefully that will keep them interested enough to want to keep them alive.

"Like it really makes a difference," Johanna says, rolling her eyes.

"Johanna Mason, this is Eoghan and Annie Cresta. Eoghan, Annie, this is Johanna."

"I think we met before, on your victory tour," Annie says quietly.

"Can't say I really remember," Johanna says, turning away from her. "Hey, Odair, you want to ditch this party?" It's the same thing she said to me the first night we met. That same night as our drunken encounter. She pointedly looks at me. I get the impression she said it on purpose. That she somehow wants to remind me. "I could do with blowing off some steam."

"Er…" I look from Annie to Eoghan. I have been dragged away from them so much this week already, I probably shouldn't disappear again. "I think we still have a few things to figure out."

She narrows her eyes, "If you are trying to figure out a way for both of them to survive then you can just forget it. You may be parading round as Snow's lapdog but that isn't going to change anything. They are going to die so you might as well just enjoy yourself."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Eoghan says.

"Well don't tell me you want to spend your final days trapped in this shithole? You've come all the way here; you might as well see the place. I guess you can tag along. I mean you're kind of cute, if you like that whole sad little puppy thing you've got going on."

"Again, thanks." Eoghan turns to me. "It would be better than just waiting around, though."

I turn to Annie, "What do you think?"

"You'd probably prefer an early night, wouldn't you, you look tired," Johanna says, dismissing Annie completely as she gets to her feet and grabs my arm, pulling me towards the door. "Come on, Odair, let's get you looking presentable."

I try to fight against her, to hold back so I can talk it through with Annie but it is hard to oppose Johanna when she is this insistent.

"Actually, I want to come too," Annie says firmly, getting to her feet. "I'll just go and get ready."

"Oh, excellent," Johanna says, not even trying to hide her sarcasm.

Once I have changed into a clean shirt I slip into Mags' room and tell her where we are going. She looks at me with surprise.

"Do you think that's a good idea?"

"Not really, but you know what Johanna's like." I'll spend the whole evening trying to keep Annie and Eoghan away from the people in the Capitol. If they are recognised it will be a nightmare trying to keep them away. "I'll make sure they stay out of trouble, though. Are you sure you don't want to come."

Mags laughs, "It's not really my thing."

"All right," I slip away to see if the others are ready but I only reach the hallway before Mags calls to me.

"Don't you dare drink anything! Any of you!"

"Not even a drop!" I shout back. And I mean it. Last time I drank I made myself look absolutely ridiculous.

The three of us group together in the lobby and wait for Johanna to come down. Annie wears a simple but pretty dress that looks far too modest and plain to conform to Capitol fashions but it suits her. No doubt she will look completely different tomorrow night for the interviews. Even though I have asked the stylists to keep everything very understated I know they will still seem extravagant by District 4 standards.

Eoghan stares at himself in the mirror, playing with his hair, parting it one way and then the other. "Do I look alright?"

"Sure you do, puppy," I say, messing up his hair. It won't help him if he looks too good.

We all turn as the elevator doors ping open to reveal Johanna. Eoghan's eyes almost pop out of his head. Her dress is very short and made of a sheer black material. Her legs seem to stretch endlessly onwards, elongated by her ridiculously high heels. I have never seen her look so… slutty.

She smiles at me in way that is quite unlike herself. "I didn't realise it was going to be that kind of night," I tell her.

She shrugs, "Why not? Got to keep my options open."

We take the elevator down to the ground floor and all pile into a waiting car. Johanna gives the driver a slip of paper and we drive off into the night.

"Where are we going?" Annie asks. She stares out the window as the imposing Capitol buildings sweep by, illuminated in softly glowing lights.

"Just some party I heard about."

The party turns out to be at the house of Cardea Wanless, heir to the Wanless millions. I have been at her house once before on Blasius' orders and received a very expensive watch for my troubles. I had hoped I would never have to return.

The host greets Johanna and me like we are old friends, planting a kiss on my cheek. "So glad you could make it." Her voice drops to a whisper, "I hope we will be able to spend some time alone together later."

Cardea was one of my clients who seemed to believe that I genuinely enjoyed spending time with her. I mean, why wouldn't I? She is rich and popular and probably, by Capitol standards, stunning. There were lots of articles and speculation about us being a couple for a while but it didn't last long. I moved on to my next client so the stories changed to one of heartbreak. Some even said that I had destroyed her. If I did destroy her she is looking remarkably well by it. As the next people arrive she flutters away to greet them.

Eoghan leans in towards me. "Did you…? Is she one of…?" He raises his eyebrows suggestively, "I think I'm going to like this party."

As we move into the main ballroom no one pays much attention to Annie and Eoghan. Clearly they haven't been recognised. I suppose two victors are enough to hold their attention and in comparison a pair of unremarkably dressed teenagers seem insignificant.

As Johanna and I pose for photographs Annie and Eoghan stare up at the ginormous crystal chandelier and I see their eyes widen as they notice the mounds of food that have been set up on a buffet at the side of the room. Annie's gaze travels across to the middle of the room where hundreds of couples sweep gracefully around the floor, showing off their finery.

I step away from a group of women who have set up numerous poses around me so they could be photographed by my side and go and join my friends.

"I'll go get us some drinks," I say to them, heading off towards the huge crystal punch bowl. Eoghan follows close by my side, leaving Johanna and Annie to awkwardly stare at each other.

"You should tell her tonight," Eoghan whispers.

"What?"

"Annie. You should tell her how you feel. It will be perfect. The music, the dancing… it's romantic."

"But-"

We stop by the bowl of punch and I ladle some into a glass. I sniff its surface then hold it under Eoghan's nose. "Do you think this is alcoholic?"

He pushes the glass away, "You have to tell her before the Games."

"Why?" I begin to fill a second glass.

"Because it will be her reason to fight. She'll want to get back to you."

"I don't even know if she would care. She has Hake. I'm just… she should be with someone better than me."

"If you honestly think that, then you're an idiot."

"Grab these drinks, will you?" I push the glasses into his hand and quickly fill another two. I'll tell Annie how I feel in my own time and not before. Personally I don't see the romance in this night at all. Nothing in the house of Cardea Wanless could be romantic. I push by him and begin to head back towards the girls.

"You'll regret it if you don't," his says, a little too loudly for comfort. Several people look our way. I am sure Johanna and Annie must have heard but if they did they show no recognition of it.

I pass one of the drinks to Johanna and sip at my own. Annie is still watching the dancing, completely mesmerised. She hardly notices when Eoghan pushes her drink into her hand.

Eoghan widens his eyes and nods towards Annie, 'Go on,' he mouths.

'No' I mouth back at him. I can feel my cheeks turning red as Johanna's watches the exchange. But still our silent conversation continues.

"You have to", Eoghan hisses, moving towards me.

"No I don't." But it turns out that I do because Eoghan shoves me towards Annie and I knock into her arm. Finally she turns away from the dancing.

"Er… Annie?"

"Hmmm?"

"Did you… want to dance?"

When I look at her I see she is still dreamily half lost in her own world. "Yes, I think I'd like that."

We put our drinks down on one of the side tables and together we step onto the dance floor. As I take her in my arms Eoghan gives me a thumbs up.

'I hate you' I mouth at him.

"Love you too!" he shouts back, waving like an idiot. Then he turns towards Johanna, his eyes curiously lingering a little too long on her chest. I turn away, I don't want to see the result of that train wreck.

I pull Annie in closer to me. It feels like when I held her in the kitchen. As her head falls forward onto my shoulder I begin to turn us both slowly on the spot, "You always used to ask me about the parties in the Capitol and I guess now you know."

"I didn't realise there would be so many people. It feels like the whole world is watching."

I let my gaze wander and, sure enough, it seems that every pair is trained on us. They are obviously all eager to know who the great Finnick Odair is dancing with, whose heart he is going to break next. Who he is going to destroy next. I try to ignore them, to turn my attention again to Annie, but as we turn I catch sight of Johanna.

She is stood chatting to a group of drooling men but, just for a moment, she glances across at the dance floor. Our eyes meet. For a moment I don't quite understand what I am seeing. I can't read the expression on her face. It is somewhere between hurt and anger, somewhere between rejection and determination, longing and loss. I force myself to turn away again. I don't want to see it. I don't want to have to acknowledge it. I am here with Annie. I am here to tell Annie how I feel.

"Annie… I know this isn't really the time but…"

But all those eyes are watching. Everyone can see and Annie is no longer invisible. Soon someone is going to realise who she is and it will be all over the papers and that would spoil everything because, the truth of the matter is, no one wants to see me settle down because everyone wants to believe they can still have me.

I don't want to but it is with a self-destructive curiosity that I look back at Johanna. Only I don't see Johanna, only the empty space where she once was. I quickly scan the room and catch a glimpse of her back disappearing into another room.

"Finnick?"

"I'm sorry… I just… I'll be right back."

Without questioning me Annie lets go of my hands.

I rush after Johanna towards the adjoining room. That too is full of people and I have to fight my way through them as they faun over me, exclaiming that it has been so long since they last saw me. I don't even look at them; my eyes are fixed on Johanna who continues to speed deeper into the house.

"Johanna!"

But either she doesn't hear me or she chooses to ignore me. I speed up my pace and the gap between us begins to diminish. The rooms are becoming emptier now and we are leaving the party behind. As she heads towards another door I break into a run and I just manage to wedge my foot inside the doorframe before the door closes completely.

"Finnick? What the hell do you think you are doing?"

I push my way into the small room, which turns out to be a bathroom, and I shut the door behind us. "Why did you bring us here tonight?"

"I thought it would be fun." She pushes herself up onto the counter and sits next to the sink. She tips the contents of her purse out next to her and begins to rummage through the make-up cases and lipsticks.

"But you're alright?"

"I'm more than alright, I'm Johanna Mason."

"Alright then, I'll leave you to it." I turn my back on her and pull open the door. I take a single step from the room then pause, knowing that she will call me back. I know her too well to just keep going. She will wait until now; until my back is turned then she will touch upon the truth because from here she knows I can't see her expression.

"Do you like her?"

"Who?"

"Annie. I saw the look on your face when we watched her in training. You like her."

"Why do you ask if you already know?" I still don't turn because I can't stand seeing that face again- the same expression that I saw as I danced with Annie.

"Why her?"

I pause a moment then I force myself to turn. I have to face this sometime. "Because I can feel something. For the first time since my Games I feel like a person again."

"And me?" she asks my reflection in the mirror.

"You could have any man you wanted. Look at you." I don't have to lie. Anyone can see how beautiful she is, if only she would let them get close enough.

The fierceness of her expression wavers. Why didn't I see this before? Why didn't I understand? But I can't love her. To love Johanna would be like falling in love with the darkest part of myself. In many ways it could be so easy to embrace it all but I could never trust myself with it. I could never trust myself with her.

I guess the people in the ballroom are wrong. It is not Annie that I am going to destroy next. It is Johanna.

"She will die in the arena," she says flatly. Blunt to a fault.

"There is a chance…"

"Don't kid yourself, Finnick. You're not that dumb." She jumps off the counter, "It's probably the only reason you love her- because you know you'll never have to commit to her, because you know she will never be yours. You've never truly loved anything or anyone, except yourself and you're not about to start now."

"That isn't fair."

"Then why do you think you haven't told her yet?"

"I'm going to tell her."

"Fine, tell her. Go off and play at being in love. Don't come crying to me when she's gone."

"That isn't fair," I repeat. "I do love her… I do."

"Saying it doesn't make it true," she pushes the door open and steps back out into the party.

I can't follow her, not this time. I watch the door swing back and thud shut.

I know I love Annie. I must. Else why would the thought of living without her hurt this much? That's love, isn't it? I don't know how else I could describe the tightness in my chest.


	57. Chapter 57

**AN: I intended to post this chapter yesterday but it ended up a little longer than I expected and I ran out of time to finish it. I hope you all enjoy it. Only one more chapter after this one and we will be in the arena.  
><strong>

**Thank you, once again, for the favourites, follows and reviews (I can't believe there are over two hundred reviews now- that is amazing). This story has really taken over my life- I can't stop thinking about it and it is great to be able to share it with such supportive people. **

* * *

><p>Annie sits with her hands in her lap, her head tilted thoughtfully to one side as she answers Caesar's questions. So far she has been nothing short of evasive, finding ways to answer the questions that tells the audience virtually nothing about her. Her face is completely blank, devoid of any trace of emotion. You can tell that Caesar, despite all his years of experience, is struggling with the interview. There is an awkward pause as he tries to think of what he can ask next. It is then that he chooses to ask the question that I have been trying to find an answer to for so long.<p>

"So, tell us, what do you think of your mentor? Finnick always manages to create quite the stir in the Capitol."

The blank expression on her face cracks slightly letting a glimmer of emotion shine through. I see her eyes dart towards the audience, searching for me. When our eyes meet I nod to her to continue. "Well…" she considers her words carefully. The three of us agreed not to mention our friendship; there is no need to make things more complicated than they already are. For the whole interview it has been as if Annie has been walking on eggshells, carefully stepping over each question with minimal breakages. I imagine her answer to this question will be no different. "Since coming to the Games I have seen another side of him."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it's just… You can see someone on television and not really know them at all and then, all of a sudden, he's here- I am here. It's completely different. "

"And what do you think of him now you know him better?"

Annie wrinkles her nose slightly. _God I hope that was at the question and not at me. _"I think I understand why he is so popular with the ladies in the Capitol."

Her eyes meet mine again. Does she know? How could she? I haven't even seen a client this year. She can't mean that. She must just mean my act- the way I am forced to charm them. I find myself shifting uncomfortably in my seat.

"And are you _immune_ to his charms?" Caesar continues, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Oh yes," Annie says, "As soon as Eoghan found out he was going to be my mentor he had me vaccinated against his charms. So yes, I'm completely immune."

The audience laughs and I know the cameras will now be on me so I plaster a grin across my face. I really hope she is just lying to the cameras.

"So what is Finnick Odair like as a mentor?"

"He's good."

"Good?"

She shrugs, "He gets the job done. "

And that's all she says. I don't know what to make of it all exactly. I told her to be mysterious but I had hoped I might be able to read her better, that I would find a way to read beyond her words but I am just as clueless as ever.

"Now Annie, tell me, how did you feel when your brother's name was picked from the Reaping ball?"

"Well I didn't really know what to think, and I still don't."

"It has put you in a very difficult situation but your family must be very proud." No Caesar, I think, out of all the things Mr Cresta is feeling right now I doubt one of them is proud. What pride is there in watching your grandchildren be sent to thier deaths?

"At least I know there will be one person in the arena that is on my side." She doesn't elaborate more than that. She doesn't give the audience the satisfaction of seeing her sadness. If I know the people of the Capitol then they are all waiting for her to crumble, they are waiting to bask in the tragedy of the situation because there is nothing more delicious then sharing another's suffering. Well, they will just have to be disappointed because she isn't going to crumble.

The buzzer sounds and the audience is no closer to knowing Annie Cresta than they were on the day she was reaped. I'm pleased. I'd rather just keep her to myself.

Cashmere, who is sat behind me, leans forward to whisper in my ear, "Congratulations, Odair, you might just have the most forgettable tribute ever."

Eoghan is called forward next. Before taking his seat next to Caesar he struts along the front of the stage, posing for the cameras, stirring up the audience, making them scream for him. I have never seen Eoghan behave quite like this before. As he heads for his seat he only takes a few steps before turning over his shoulder back to the cameras to squeeze in a cheeky wink. I recognise the move as one of my own. The crowds are going insane. One thing is apparent; he is not trying to be mysterious. Not at all. Not in the slightest.

"So, Eoghan, it's great to see you, tonight." Caesar begins once the din of the audience has died down. "How are you doing?"

"I'm great, thank you, as you can see." He strikes another pose, flexing his muscles. It is as if he has transformed into a completely different person.

"So, are you looking forward to this year's Games?"

"Absolutely. I'm going to be putting on quite the show."

"Oh really? Would you like to tell us a little bit about your strategy?"

"Well obviously I can't say too much." There are a few disappointed groans from the audience. "But I will tell you this;" Eoghan leans in towards Caesar. I can feel the seats shift as the whole audience leans forward to listen. "I have been training with Finnick Odair for years and I know he did pretty well in the arena but, I promise you, you haven't seen anything yet."

"That sounds like a difficult promise to keep," even Caesar seems surprised by Eoghan.

"I'm older than he was in his Games- I've had five more years of experience and, as you can imagine, that makes quite the difference to my skills. I won't need to rely on sponsors to win… Although, I wouldn't say no to the attention," he winks towards the camera in a suggestive way.

I can't believe it. Not only has he ignored what I told him to do, he has stolen my persona and, even worse, has tried to make me out to be some kind of weakling because I had sponsor support. Even the way he sits leaning casually back in his chair, the way he confidently uses his hands to draw attention to himself, even the way he purrs his lines, mirrors my own public performances. How long has he been studying me to make sure that he gets it just right?

I have to stop myself storming onto the stage and pulling him back to the Training Centre. He wouldn't behave like this if he knew. Looking across at the audience I can already begin to see the interest on their faces. Fresh blood. I guess his lost little puppy look has everyone wanting to take him home. If he wins now I don't see how I am going to be able to save him. They will want him, I know they will.

He doesn't look at me throughout the whole interview. He must know that I am fuming. He must understand what he has done. As the interview continues he tells them how he always beat me in training. He tells them that I have broken too many hearts in the Capitol but he would never dream of doing that because he is so sensitive and loving and loyal and when he falls in love it is forever. With every new lie he convinces another group of the audience that he is the tribute to watch, that he is going to be the victor of the 70th Hunger Games.

It is all so well-rehearsed. He has an answer to every question Caesar throws at him and a ridiculous pose to go with it. He must have been planning this all along and now that I think about it, it all suddenly makes sense- the way he seemed adamant to use the trident in the private sessions, the way he acted in the Opening Ceremonies, how he kept reminding me that if I won Games then he could too. I should have seen it coming.

I guess his instincts have already kicked in. He is already fighting to survive and he hasn't even reached the arena yet. This will definitely help him but I had hoped to win using some less conventional methods- one that doesn't use me as some kind of lure for sponsors.

"Mags-" I hiss under my breath.

"There is nothing you can do about it now," she says quietly. "You'll just have to sit out."

"What about your sister? How do you think she will do in the arena?"

A flicker of the real Eoghan shows through and he tries to shake it off but he can't. As he considers his answer the persona disappears entirely and the true Eoghan takes over.

"I know she will be fine, because I will make sure of it. If it is a choice between me and Annie, I will choose her. Every time. She's my little sister. It's my job to protect her." And then he's gone again, "Obviously that won't be a problem for me; I am more than capable of taking care of both of us."

I am relieved when the buzzer sounds and Eoghan is forced to shut his mouth. He struts back to his seat to watch the remaining tributes attempt to negotiate their own interviews.

As I sit and watch them my frustration stews. All I wanted to do was to try and keep him safe- to keep both of them safe so they won't have to go through the same thing I did. Why else would I have said those things? Does he think I was somehow trying to sabotage his victory by asking him to keep it muted?

I try to forget about it and listen to what remaining tributes have to say but I can't hear a word. My gaze is fixed on Eoghan who obliviously sits back in his chair, arrogantly paying little attention to the other tributes.

My fingers itch for something to do, something to hold onto, something that will keep me together. I pick up a programme that has fallen to the floor and begin to shred it into tiny pieces. I let each piece fall like a snowflake. I watch the faces of the twenty-four tributes get torn into pieces. It is only when I reach the page with Annie on that I stop. She smiles up at me. I let the programme drop and it spirals to the floor, landing with Eoghan's picture facing upwards.

I have to find out what he was thinking. Why he ignored me? Doesn't he trust me? Doesn't he understand how serious the situation is?

I can't stay sat here any longer. I have to get out. I push my way along the row of seats that have been reserved for mentors and slip out the fire escape, ignoring the attendants that try to stop me.

It may be dark out, the streets may be reaming with crazed Capitol people on their way to parties, and the huge screens may be blaring out every word of the interview with the girl from 7 but I have to escape. I cut down a small alleyway to try and avoid the inner city buzz. I don't exactly know where I am going I just know I have to go.

* * *

><p>My feet don't find their way back to the Training Centre until a few hours later. I had let my mind get lost in the weaving streets of the city until I no longer tried to understand Eoghan but instead wondered what everyone else was doing, whether they missed me, what food I might prepare myself when I get back. I kept wandering until I could stand to be around people again.<p>

I tiptoe into my room, making as little noise as possible, but it doesn't matter. The first thing I see when I step inside is Eoghan. He is sat on my bed, twisting my piece of rope between his fingers. I stop in the doorway, unsure of what to do next.

"I suppose I have some explaining to do," he says, looking up apologetically.

"It's alright," I say, "Feel free to ignore me any time. It's not like I know what I am talking about or anything." I don't mean to sound so sarcastic but somehow it just comes out that way. Seeing him here sat on my bed just ignites all the same feelings I felt during his interview.

"I would have listened if you had bothered to come up with something decent. But mysterious?" he lets out a grunt of disapproval, "No one has ever won with 'mysterious'."

"You should have talked to me about it before, maybe we could have figured something out."

"You told me to do things my way. So I did." He puts my coil of rope down on the bed next to him.

"No, you didn't. You did it my way." His whole strategy is based on imitation. Everyone will probably see right through it. The only way to win is to find your own way, to find your own act. It is no good trying to be something they have seen before.

"You're just jealous," he scoffs.

"Jealous? Of you?" He really hasn't got a clue. Despite everything I have gone through I would not trade places with him in a hundred years because I could not face that arena again. I have survived that but for him it is just beginning and, despite my best efforts, he is as blind as I was. It's going to be the same old story.

"I showed you up in there. They saw exactly who you are for a change- someone who has always had everything handed to him on a plate his entire life. Well this time it's my turn. I'm going to get what I want."

Maybe part of that is true. Growing up I had always known that I had more than him. I had people who wanted me around, who loved me. I always had enough to eat, clean clothes to wear. At school people had liked me; even then I had been noticed while Eoghan followed me round like a shadow. Until I was reaped I had everything. Until he was reaped he had nothing. Except me and Annie.

"You're not the only one who can play to the cameras," he continues.

"You think I enjoy the attention?"

"Of course you do, I've seen you. All those people falling at your feet, the women chasing after you, the house, the money, the fame- you revel in it. Even at home you have people in the palm of your hand with your 'broken victor' act. But this year I'm the tribute- this is meant to be about me and you can't take that away from me."

"You don't want what I have." I let myself step into the room. I sit down on the floor opposite the bed, leaning against the wardrobe.

"The way I felt on that stage… with all those people watching, listening to everything I had to say… I want that. I want them to notice me."

"Have you any idea of what is coming tomorrow? Have you any idea of what you are going to have to go through?"

"Yes I do, of course I do. I watch it every year. I've seen it all and I know the only way I am going to survive is to have them on my side. I need sponsors."

"Not like this." I lower my voice, trying to steady myself. "Look, let's not fight about this. It's the last night before the arena..."

"I just don't understand. Don't you want us to win?" His voice falls to a whisper, he almost sounds scared. As if he actually thinks I could send them both into the arena and not care if they came out alive or not.

"Of course I do." More than anything in the world I want them to come home again. I get to my feet and join him on the bed, as if moving closer to him will help to bridge the gap between us.

"Then why didn't you help us? You are meant to make us unforgettable."

"I don't want them to remember you." I keep my voice at a whisper, matching his tone. I haven't the strength to fight with him tonight. I can't stand the thought of my last words to him being shouted.

"But what good is that going to do? That's not going to help us win."

"No. I know."

That's the worst of it. Deep down I do know that I'm not playing this game right. We all know how it should be played. It is not about odds or luck or chance, it is about strategy and this year my strategy has already failed. I was too busy worrying about what is going to come after the arena to think of the best way for them to survive now.

He shakes his head in disbelief. "I thought you were on our side. You've let us down." He gets to his feet, heading towards the door.

If I let him go now I might never see him again before the arena. I can't leave it this way. I can't have my best friend believe that I have somehow sabotaged his victory. I have to keep him with me a bit longer. I have to make him understand. I have to make him see. I refuse to let it end like this.

The door begins to close behind him.

"Eoghan?"

He catches the door just before it closes. "What?"

The words stick in my throat but I have to find a way to let them out. He has to understand. "I don't think I ever told you… but I… I used to know this boy… I think you used to know him too," my mouth suddenly feels very dry.

Eoghan steps back into the room, moving towards me, "What are you on about?" Something about my tone must tell him that he needs to listen because he returns to the bed. "What boy?"

I can't look at him but I feel his weight on the bed as he sits down. At first I can't speak, the forbidden words will not form on my lips but I draw in a deep breath and slowly, ever so slowly, they begin to flow. "This boy- when he won the Games he was just a child. He didn't really understand. They had given him gifts, celebrated him, and helped him to survive. He thought it was because they liked him, because they wanted to back a winner, because he somehow deserved it. What he didn't understand was that he would have to pay them back. They were so rich, so powerful- they had given him everything and they could take it away. On top of everything else they had given him they gave him a choice. He could repay them for saving his life with the lives of his family or he could repay them another way…" I can feel my hands shaking now as I struggle to keep a grip on myself. I have never told anyone this before. Either people already knew or I hid it from them. I am not even sure I want to admit it now. I swallow hard, trying to dislodge the lump that has grown in the back of my throat. "So he sold himself… he sold his body to them. To save the lives of those he loved."

I still don't look at him. I can't. There are tears in my eyes and I don't want him to see. I don't want him to think I am weak.

The silence lasts a decade. I can't even hear him breathe. I find myself holding my own breath as I wait for his reaction. Does he understand? Does he see why I did it? I don't dare to look up. I couldn't stand to see the expression on his face. So I wait. And I wait. And still he has nothing to say to me.

The silence is unbearable. I get to my feet, blinking the tears from my eyes and I mumble something about getting something to eat. I haven't even reached the door before he stops me.

"Finnick…?"

"What?" I struggle to keep my voice steady.

"I'm sorry," his voice is a hoarse as my own.

"I just didn't want for you or Annie to…"

"So all the time you spent in the Capitol…?"

I don't confirm or deny it but at least he knows what I meant.

It is still a long time before I can look at him but when I do I am relieved that I am not met with pity. I don't want to change in his eyes. I am still Finnick and he is still Eoghan and I don't want the shame and anger of this revelation to divide us. As he stands to meet me I realise that the secret doesn't sit between like I thought it would. Its enormity doesn't create a void between us but somehow fills in all the gaps that separate us. I am lucky to have him as a friend.

"You make sure you come back," I tell him.

"Course I will. If you can make it, so can I," He puts on an arrogant sneer, just as he did in the interview. He tries to keep it up but he can't and both of us break down into bitter laughter, streaked with tears.

"Idiot," I tell him.

"Jerk."

Somehow I have told him my biggest secret and somehow the world hasn't fallen apart.


	58. Chapter 58

I glance at the clock. It's almost 2am. We should have been asleep hours ago. Instead we have spent the whole night sat on my bed talking about nothing. It is always on nights like this that sleep never finds me. I am wide awake, my head twisting through labrinthine thoughts that have no solution.

"Have you seen the time?"

"Wha-?" Eoghan yawns, rolling over to face me. Unlike me he has somehow managed to doze.

"You should go to bed."

"What about you?"

"I'm ok- I'm going to be drugged out of my brain come the morning- nothing will knock me out after that so you should be in pretty safe hands" I give Eoghan a shove towards the edge of the bed. "Go on, away with you! I'm sick of you now. " I nudge him with the back of my pillow.

He rolls again to avoid being hit, almost toppling right off the end of the bed, "I'll tell you what," a calculating sort of smile spreads across his face. "I'll head off to bed when you go to tell Annie how you feel."

I'm surprised, after everything I told him tonight, that he still thinks of me as an option for Annie. It is obvious that she deserves better than me. Something as simple and straight forward as love, in my hands, can become impossibly complicated.

"I can't."

"Why not?" He sounds so casual. Somehow the pair of us have always been able to switch between being at each other throats, to the deadly serious, to the offhand. It is as if everything from earlier is completely forgotten.

"It's 2am. It's too late."

"Well waiting around isn't going to help that."

He's right. Time is ticking by at a ridiculous pace. A few more hours and the night will begin to lighten, a few more hours and both of them will be taken from me and there will be little I can do to help them. If I don't tell her now then I might never get the chance. Yet I am terrified of what will happen if I do. Johanna's words echo round my head.

"_It's probably the only reason you love her- because you know you'll never have to commit to her, because you know she will never be yours. You've never truly loved anything or anyone, except yourself and you're not about to start now." _

Ever since I returned from the arena I have been scared that the monster has taken over and destroyed the part of me that is still able to care for people. But I do love her. I must. I just don't understand how the two sides can co-exist. How can I murder and maim and sell my body to the highest bidder and still find enough good in people to love her? She deserves more than a half-hearted attempt. I have to be sure that the monster is never going to take hold again. No matter what happens I have to find a way to keep feeling everything, to allow myself to love her completely.

When- if- she gets out of the arena then I'll have to find a way to keep her safe, I will have to find a way to…

No.

I need to worry about that when I get there. Right now what Annie needs is someone to fight for- a reason to survive. She has to get out the arena first. Maybe, if I tell her how I feel, maybe I can be that reason. Eoghan seems to think it will make a diffence. Maybe this is what she needs. And this way, no matter what happens, I will know. I won't have this question mark hanging over me for the rest of my life.

"All right," I say. "I'll do it."

"At last!" He slides off the end of the bed onto his feet, "Don't forget to tell me how it went only… not too much detail. She is my sister."

"Sure, sure," I don't even want to think about that yet. One step at a time, Finnick.

Together we step out into the hallway. Eoghan heads to his room to my left while I look to my right and Annie's room.

Suddenly I'm all too conscious of myself. My palms are clammy and my hair is a mess and there is a stain on my shirt and my heart is beating too fast and my stomach is doing backflips and I have a twitch in my left eye that just won't go away.

She is probably asleep. She probably won't appreciate me barging in on her at this time. Maybe I could catch her in the morning. Maybe that would be better. I take a step back towards my room… Except I might not get another chance. I turn back and march towards Annie's door and knock lightly on one of the panels before I can change my mind again.

The door opens far too quickly for her to have been asleep. "Finnick?" She is still dressed in the same clothes she wore to the interview.

"I couldn't sleep."

"No. Me neither." She steps back away from the door and retreats inside. I follow her mutely, struggling to think of the words to say. "I've been thinking… "She continues, "It's kept me awake and I… I wanted to talk to you about something."

Something in my chest does a small leap. Does she want to tell me the same thing I want to say to her? Is that what has been keeping her up so long? Maybe it will not be up to me to leap the gap between us, maybe she will come to me instead.

She sits down on the end of the bed and I sit down next to her, nervously holding my hands together to stop myself fidgeting. "What did you want to say?"

The pause before she speaks seems to last forever. I can't breathe; it is as if my heart stands still.

"Only one person can get out of the arena alive."

My heart falls back into my chest. It is the arena which is keeping her awake. What else could it seriously be? What business have I to come and speak of love when they will be fighting to the death in the morning?

"Yes. I know," I struggle to hide my disappointment. I don't want to be talking strategy right now. I am too exhausted. It is too late. We have had a whole week to talk strategy.

"It's going to be difficult for you, isn't it- with both of us there?"

"Yes."

"Because you will eventually have to choose between us."

"I'm not going to make a choice." I have to believe I can get them out- either of them, both of them. I have to believe it to keep going.

"No… I thought you'd say that but I have been thinking and… and I think I could make it easier for you."

"What do you mean?" I can feel where this is going. I know the words that are going to come out of her mouth even before she says them but I just don't want to hear them. "Please-"

"I want you to choose Eoghan."

"Annie-"

"-It's not like I really have a chance of surviving anyway."

"No. Annie… No. You can do it. I know you can. You have to." The thought of her giving up is too much. She can't survive with that attitude. No victor has ever won by chance. They have to want it. It is as if my ribcage is slowly caving in. This is not what tonight is meant to be about. "I'm not going to choose sides," All I can manage is the weakest of whispers.

"Then everything will have to be split in two and there might not be enough. You could lose both of us. But this way- If we both try and keep Eoghan alive- then I know he can get home. I know we can make it happen. Please, you have to help me."

There is logic to what she says but I can't do it, even if it is what she wants. I don't want to accept that one of them has to die at all. I don't want to end this night knowing that I am never going to see her again. There has to be a chance. There has to be a way for both of them to come home.

"But I can't… Annie… don't ask me."

"He is your best friend. Nothing should be simpler."

"It's not because of that, I want him to live, it's just… you are my…" her mouth opens slightly, as if she wants to interrupt but she pulls it back and I lose my train of thought. How am I meant to tell her that I love her now? "I can't."

"You have to."

"You can't just give up."

"I'm not. I'm being realistic. I don't expect to come out alive."

It is like being punched in the stomach over and over again.

"You have to promise me, Finnick. Promise me that you will keep him alive."

"I will. But not at your expense."

"Then lose us both."

"You don't know that. You can win. You have as much chance as the rest. You just have to beleive it." She has to.

"Promise me you'll choose him over me."

"No." This is too much. This is too much.

"Finnick. If you ever cared for me at all you would promise me this."

I can't take any more. I can't make this promise.

I get to my feet. I have to get out of here. I'm not ready to face up to this. I can't. I thought I knew what was coming. I thought I had known enough sorrow to be prepared for tomorrow and the next day and all the days after but I was wrong. I'm not ready for this. I can't think about losing either of them. I can't lose either of them, I'll find a way. There has to be a way.

"I'm sorry, Annie, I just can't."

I rush from her room before she can say any more. I shut myself in my room, and wedge the door shut with the bedside table. I don't want anyone coming in now. I don't want Eoghan to ask me how it went. I don't want Annie to come in and make me promise to let her die. All I wanted was to tell her that I love her. All I wanted was to enjoy our last moments together. I wanted to pour my heart out to her but I didn't even get a chance. There is too much that I haven't been allowed to say. There is too much that I still want her to know, that I want her to understand. There is just too much.

I sit down at my desk and, as I always do when too many thoughts spin in my head, I grab a pen and a piece of paper and I let every thought spill out onto the page. Everything That I wish I could have told her. Everything that is meant to give her a reason to come back, even if she doesn't know it yet.

I write myself a better night. The way I wish it could be.

_If this is the last night we spend together_

_I hope time is kind, _

_And the hours are long_

_And we don't feel it is gone too soon_

_Although I know we will_

_If this is the last night we spend together_

_Then I hope I can make you smile_

_And laugh _

_Just like we used to do_

_Because I don't want to spend it crying_

_If this is the last night we spend together_

_Then I want to spend it dancing_

_Gently swaying together_

_So I can hold you in my arms again_

_And pretend that you are mine_

_If this is the last night we spend together_

_Then I want you to know that I will remember_

_Every look, every word, _

_Every feeling, every thought_

_I'll carry it with me_

_If this is the last night we spend together_

_Then I want you to be brave_

_And find a way to carry on, _

_No matter what_

_Because I will be with you_

_If this is the last night we spend together_

_Then I want you to know that I love you_

_That you make me love you_

_That I can't help but love you_

_And that I always will. _

"Finnick?" I hear her voice on the other side of the door. The handle shuffles but the bedside table holds fast. "Finnick, will you let me in?"

I cover my ears. I wish she wasn't there. I want to just pretend that the conversation never happened. I want to stay in the night I have created for us with the laughter and the dancing and the talking. That is how I want to remember her. That is how it should be.

"Finnick, please." Her voice is a little louder now, still clear through my blocked ears.

I curl over; my head slumped down on the desk. Please leave me alone, please leave me alone. Don't make me promise.

I can feel myself begin to unravel again. Feel the strings that hold me together falling away. But then the same thought hits me as it did with Eoghan earlier and I manage to reel myself back in because I don't want to end it this way. We deserve that night together. I don't want the last feeling I have towards Annie to be this. I have to make this right.

"Will you open the door?"

I take the poem from my desk and carefully fold it. Then I go over to the door and silently I pull the bedside table out the way. Through the gap at the bottom I can see the shadows where she is standing. I am glad of the divide between us. I don't want her to see the state I'm in. Slowly I feed the poem under the door then I back away again to sit on the floor on the far side of the room. If she won't let me tell her how I feel that she can read it. At least that way she will know.

I wait.

And wait.

I try not to think of her face as she reads my words. I try not to think of what it means. How it could change everything. This isn't how I imagined this moment would be. I never thought I would be declaring my love for Annie while cowering on the floor in the dark. This isn't how it is meant to be.

The door handle twists again and this time the door opens. I scramble to my feet, my back pressed against the wall as she moves towards me.

"Did you write this?" she says, the gentle tone has returned to her voice now.

All I can do is nod.

"Finnick…"

"I'm not going to make any promises," She has to know that.

"Then I guess it is up to me," she says softly as she pushes herself up onto her tiptoes and kisses my cheek.

'_You've never truly loved anything or anyone, except yourself and you're not about to start now.'_

You're wrong, Johanna, you're wrong because tonight is the start.

"I love you, Annie." And they seem like the most natural words in the world.

"I love you too."


	59. Chapter 59

We are tramps waiting for a lucky break.

The twenty three of us huddle in the control room, crouched like beggars over our screens. We sit too close to them the way cold hands are held over fires on a cold day. Any closer and we will get burnt but this blank screen will be my only link to them over the next few weeks and because of this it will become my shrine.

Already I am muttering my prayers. Please let them survive. Please bring them back to me. Both of them. Please, let me find a way for both of them to survive. Please, please. There has to be a way. There has to be something I can do. If there is anyone out there then I hope they are listening. I hope they know how much this means to me. I don't ask for much but please, please, please give me this. I lower my head onto the desk in front of me, bowing towards my shrine in this god-forsaken church of broken souls.

We are monks singing orisons to silent keepers.

Chatter buzzes around me; the usual banter, snide remarks, polite enquiries. All of us are just waiting for the screen to burst into life and for the Games to begin. We go through the same motions every year. It seems to be the only way we have to make it all seem alright, to somehow normalise the whole situation.

We are a family.

We hate and need each other in equal measure, bound together by circumstance. We couldn't choose each other any more than we could choose our parents. We are the pictures of dysfunction but we cannot survive apart.

We are a room full of psychiatric patients ready to turn.

This is part of the Game as much as the interviews, the costumes, the sponsors, the murders. This is the time to prove to everyone just how under control we are, just how unaffected we can be. The problem is we all know each other's ailments and syndromes and hang-ups. We all know them too well because they are also our own. No matter how well we play the Game we still can't win, there is no way of convincing everyone that we are fine, that this is normal, that we are coping. One by one we will lose the Game and the cracks will show. This year I expect I will be one of the first to breakdown. There is just too much at stake.

My nerves run through me like electric shocks. This is going to be completely unbearable. The worst thing about being a mentor is that you are supposed to be able to help- that you are meant to keep them alive. In reality there is not a lot you can do. We literally watch them as they die and all we can do is send them a parachute of food or medicine or some other pointless trinket. How much comfort can these things give when you are dying? It will give me no comfort if that's all I can do for Annie and Eoghan. It is false hope, that's what it is. And that is worse than no hope at all.

"You ready?" Mags asks me.

"As I'll ever be."

I take her hand and squeeze it, just as she had squeezed mine the first year I sat in this control room. I just wish it could make me felt better. If only, when I squeeze her hand, I could squeeze out everything I don't want to feel with it.

I stare at the blank screen, waiting to see their faces. My every thought is with them now. If they join the alliance they will be alright. If they can make it through this first day then they stand a chance. They have to survive. They have to.

The screen flickers to life and we get our first glimpse of the arena.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, let the 70th Hunger Games begin!" The voice of Claudius Templesmith rings out over the speakers.

As the camera flicks from the golden cornucopia to the face of each of the twenty-four tributes I begin to piece together the arena. Behind most of the tributes are rocks- high rocks- maybe the sides of a gorge. The ground looks dry, flecked with patches of green but it is mostly covered in brown, dead grasses and sand. As the cameras flick to the boy from District 6 I see a huge dam, stretched between the two sides of the gorge. A waterfall spills down into a large lake. I wonder of this is the only source of water in the arena.

"They only just finished it in time," I hear Chaff mumble to Haymitch, "I reckon they could have done with the extra months. It's not much to look at."

I catch sight of Eoghan. His eyes are fixed on the cornucopia and I can see that he is poised ready to run towards it. Good. That must mean he still plans to stay in the alliance. Next on the big screen we see the little girl from District 8, then the scruffy girl from 7- the one that had driven Johanna insane, then Glint from District 1 that Eoghan had been friendly with in training and eventually Annie.

Unlike Eoghan she is not focused on anything in particular, instead she seems to be worriedly looking around at the other tributes. She must be searching for Eoghan. Focus, Annie, focus. The gong will sound soon. Just run for the cornucopia, I say in my head, over and over again, as though if I say it enough times it will reach her. Her fingers twitch nervously.

"At least they are above ground," Mags mutters. I shiver, remembering my own Games. Yes, at least they can see the sky.

I look at the brightness of all the colours, the ripple of the rising air, the way sweat can already be seen on the heads of the tributes. It must be swelteringly hot. "They will soon get dehydrated, though. The heat will be too much."

As the cameras move on to Quintus, whose face seems even more beaten and bruised than it had when he was reaped, I turn back to the small screen in front of me, keeping my eyes on Annie. Finally she stops looking around and turns straight ahead. She must be on the opposite side of the cornucopia to Eoghan. That's fine, though, she will find him.

My hand involuntarily jerks when the gong sounds, crushing Mags' fingers. The sixty seconds before the bloodbath have gone too quickly. This is it. This is the beginning of it all. As the camera pans out I find it difficult to distinguish each tribute and everything is so frantic that even the screens in front of us, which are meant to just focus on our tributes, just show a general overview.

This is what usually happens. The camera moves away to show the whole scene then it momentarily cuts to close-ups of the action as the carnage plays out.

Tributes run in all directions, ducking and diving for supplies, shoving each other to the ground as they struggle to win the race to reach the cornucopia. I see Clarity striding out in front, her long legs carrying her easily forward while Furia tears down any tribute that crosses her path.

The production this year seems to chop and change more often than usual and it is difficult to see exactly what is going on. Faceless tributes are seen running one moment then another, equally indistinguishable tribute, is shown being thrown to the ground. The way the shots and angles keep changing it makes it seem as though there are near a hundred tributes instead of the usual twenty-four. There are some that I barely recognise at all. I guess I haven't been playing as close attention to them as I thought. I struggle to find Eoghan and Annie, amongst the mess of bodies. Everyone just looks the same.

"Not that one!" Mags shouts at our screen. Several over mentors look our way, shocked by her sudden outburst.

I quickly turn my attention to the left of our two screens which is supposed to follow Eoghan. He has reached the cornucopia and is stood before a pile of weapons. To one side of him is a sword, to the other a trident. He glances from one to the other, desperately trying to make up his mind. There isn't much time. Glint joins him at the mouth of the cornucopia. He has to choose one and move- quickly.

"You ready for this, District 4?" Glint says with a grin.

Eoghan darts towards the sword and nods. "As ready as I'll ever be." We breathe a sigh of relief. He's going to be alright. With a sword in his hand I know he will be alright. He just has to find Annie.

He takes a quick look round the cornucopia. "Where are the others?"

I glance up at the big screen where Furia battles the large guy from District 10, slicing into his chest with a dagger. Despite the drama of the two of them lunging and jabbing my eyes are drawn towards the mouth of the cornucopia that is clearly visible in the background. The strange thing is that there is no sign or either Glint or Eoghan. I glance back towards the small screen. Both are still there, the sun gleaming off the glowing golden metal.

"Mags…?" I tap her on the shoulder and point towards the screen. How is it that Glint and Eoghan can be in the same place as Furia without being visible?

I glance down at the screen in front of me where Annie is creeping alongside the cornucopia, trying to slip by the other tributes who greedily squabble over supplies. On this screen the huge dam fills the whole space behind the cornucopia, unlike on the other two screens. What is going on?

The air is full of confusion as all the mentors begin to realise the same thing. Different ideas get thrown around. Is there more than one arena? Is there more than one cornucopia?

I look up towards the arena map that is on another screen and marks all of the main features- the cornucopia, the lake, and the walls of the gorge… Everything we can see is on that one map so there must be only one arena. Therefore there must be more than one cornucopia. The small red glowing lights that indicate where each tribute is suddenly appear on the screen, confirming my suspicion. The trackers show that the tributes are divided up into the four points of the compass, six tributes in each arena. Each area is equidistant from the cornucopia as it is marked on the map. This must be some twist of the Gamemakers, some way of making it more interesting to the people who watch. It certainly explains why the cameras kept cutting so suddenly from place to place but why divide up the tributes in this way?

I look back to the screens, moving in a little closer so I can have a better look. I try to concentrate on the faces of the tributes, to pick out exactly who is there and who isn't.

As Annie darts forward to grab a pack of supplies I get a close up of the tributes. I recognise none of them at all. What have they done? Have they somehow brought in more tributes to fight like in the second quarter quell? Surely not?

"Mags? What is going on?"

Annie moves in to get another pack. None of the tributes even look up from their weapons. It is as if they don't even notice her at all, they are just too intent on what they are doing. A muscular girl with long dark hair drags a set of throwing knives out of the pile and staggers backwards, narrowing her eyes as she searches for a victim. I recognise her instantly. We all do. She is unmistakable.

I turn towards the desk for District 2 and then back to my screen. She may look older than the counterpart in the arena, she may have golden, pointed teeth but we all know they are one and the same. It is Enobaria. Somehow her sixteen year old self is in the arena.


	60. Chapter 60

"What's going on?" I say again and my question seems to echo round the control room as all the mentors try to figure it out.

"I don't know," Mags whispers, "I've never seen this before. It must be the Gamemakers."

As I turn towards District 2's desk again, Enobaria gives me a wide grin, her golden teeth catching the light. If she is fazed by her unmistakable addition to the games then she doesn't show it. There is something about her look which suggests that she would quite happily rip Annie to shreds. I have never quite been able to figure her out, in many ways she still seems like a typical career tribute, as if surviving the games did nothing to change who she is as person. As if the realities of winning have never affected her. I don't know if it is just an act. If it is she is far better at acting than the rest of us. The rest of us cannot be so indifferent. I turn away from her. I don't want to be drawn into her games. I need to focus on helping Annie and Eoghan.

Annie drags her two backpacks from the pile of supplies and scurries away around the side towards the dam, staying tight to the cornucopia. I am relieved when the young Enobaria is out of sight; somehow Annie has escaped her ferocity. When she reaches the back of the cornucopia she throws herself down behind a clump of rocks and begins rummaging through her pack until she finds an empty flask. She kneels at the edge of the lake and fills it, constantly looking over shoulder in case anothe tribute sneaks up on her.

Meanwhile, on Mags' screen, Eoghan and Glint are stood back to back surrounded by a group of tributes, all of whom have secured weapons in the time it took for Eoghan and Glint to get their own. There are at least ten of them, some are fighting each other but others just gaze blankly into the distance, as if they can't see the others at all.

"I've got your back!" Glint yells.

They stand a moment, waiting for the other tributes to attack but the whole place stands eerily still. I lean forward in my seat. Soon it is going to turn. This is just the calm before the storm. The false sense of security to lull them into thinking they are safe. Seconds pass like minutes and still all is static and silent. Even the tributes that are fighting are completely mute- there are no clashes of weapons, or grunts of exertion.

"Come on," Eoghan says, "Let's get this started."

Glint lashes out first, jabbing at the nearest tribute with his spear. Eoghan follows his example, swinging his sword towards another pair of tributes. I still don't recognise them. They strike and parry for a while, skirting round other fighting pairs. All of them have sprung into action now, as if they had been waiting for a signal to begin.

One of the tributes- a hefty male- swings an axe towards Eoghan but he dodges it, driving his sword into the tribute's stomach in one swift strike.

"Is that…" Mags whispers leaning towards the screen.

The tribute crumples over Eoghan's sword and falls forward as it is pulled out. A strange effect of the light causes a ripple to spread up and down his skin, like the reflection off of water. His image flashes. One moment he is there, the next he isn't. We see him a couple more times as he sinks to the ground and fizzles in and out of focus.

"Hey Blight, I didn't realise you were such an easy kill," I hear Johanna say loudly to her mentoring partner.

His image flashes on screen a couple more times and I see the resemblance, the thickset features, muscular arms and the dark stubble on his young face. I gues Enonaria is not the only tribute in the arena. He lets out a final groan of agony then he vanishes.

"What…?" Eoghan staggers backwards. He almost trips into Glint who is still fighting an athletic girl who effortlessly weaves her way around his spear.

"A hologram." Whispers a small voice from the desk to my right. We all turn towards District 3's area where Wiress is staring at the screen and Beetee is furiously is writing down notes. Trust the brainiacs from District 3 to figure it out.

I turn the pages of my own notebook until I find an empty space where I can try to make sense of the situation. Working through what we know already I begin to make a list.

_1) The tributes of the 70th Hunger Games are split up into four areas- six in each - _this can clearly been seen by the little red tracking lights which still glow on the map.

What isn't clear on the map is the distance between the groups. The arenas vary so much in size it is impossible to know whether they are several metres apart or several miles. What also is unclear is which tribute is in which area as the lights are not labelled. This means I won't be able to determine how close Annie and Eoghan are to each other.

_2) Each area has its own cornucopia with supplies. _This, at least, this means there is not going to be any shortages this year. However, it also means that more tributes are going to have access to weapons.

_3) There appears to be 18 other tributes in each area._

I didn't count them but in order to make viewers think all the tributes were in the same place it must at least look as though all of them were there. Therefore twenty four tributes are needed in each area- 6 actual tributes and eighteen others. This would make a total of 96 tributes.

_4) These other tributes seem to be victors from past Hunger Games._

There are sixty nine past victors and twenty-four tributes this makes a total of 93 people in the arena. This means there can only be twenty-three tributes in some of the areas, unless the Gamemakers have found another way to fill the last three slots. This is something to worry about later.

Ninety-three. It is bad enough trying to defend off the usual twenty-three tributes in order to survive, let alone ninety-two others, even if some of them are just holograms. This isn't good, this isn't good at all. Why does it have to be this year that the Gamemakers decide to get creative? Why couldn't they have thrown them into the bog standard forest arena and be done with it?

_5) These extra tributes look as the victors did when they won their games and seem to have the same skills-_ Enobaria with her knives and Blight with an axe.

This means that somewhere in that rocky landscape there is a fourteen year old, trident wielding Finnick Odair and I am going to see myself as everyone saw me five years ago, fighting for my life in the Games. Clearly this arena isn't just made to mess with the tributes; it is made to affect us too.

"Great, Just great" Haymitch snorts, opening another bottle of liquor.

The people of the Capitol will love this. It's like watching reruns of all the Games, all at the same time, with some new bonus footage added in. Guaranteed to be action packed. What a great way to raise the profile of the Games (as if it needs a bigger profile).

_6) These extra tributes seem to be only holograms that do not attack but will defend themselves._

Do these holograms behave as we would in real life- is it possible for them to have allegiances to their District? If so, the Career pack is going to grossly outnumber any other group- almost half of all the tributes in the arena will belong to Districts 1,2 or 4. This could either work for or against us. If they all work together then the pack will be able to take down the rest of the tributes but if each group splits into District teams then we might not be so lucky. The District 2 group would certainly be formidable.

This is the next thing to try and find out- are these holograms just mindless images or is there more to them than that? The Gamemakers have thrown in so many surprises already that it would be stupid not to expect a few more.

_7) When the holograms are hit with a weapon, they disappear._

Glint stabs his spear into the chest of a boy with the typically dark hair and eyes of District 11. The boy flickers, just as Blight had done, and then vanishes.

Eoghan and Glint stagger back from the other tributes, gasping for air.

"They're not real," Eoghan says. "None of them are real. They're just… ghosts"

They look around at the other tributes. Some have gathered their supplies from the cornucopia and have begun heading off into another part of the arena. He is right to call them ghosts. The way they stare blankly through everyone else as they mindlessly carry out their business, it is as if they are re-enacting events they have done before, events they can't quite let go of.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat. There are a few things I know I can't quite let go of from my time in the arena- unthinkable things that I can no longer believe I did. I can't quite marry who I am now with that fourteen year old boy. We are not the same person.

As I think back on my Games it is not Jeannie's face that comes uninvited into my mind; I have pushed that image far beyond my reach, it is the look of pain on her father's face. I don't want to have to remember the rest. I thought I had left it far behind me.

"Then where are the others? Clarity, Furia..." Glint says, looking around.

They turn from one tribute to the other, taking in their glazed eyes and strange expressions that don't quite fit what they are looking at. I wonder if the holograms are taken from film footage of the original Games. It would make sense.

"They must be somewhere else in the arena," Eoghan says.

"Right. Then let's go." Glint turns his back on the cornucopia and begins to head off.

"Wait," Eoghan stands his ground still staring closely at the other tributes that surround them. A girl that doesn't quite have the same distant look as the others, reaches for a dagger from off the pile of supplies. "You!" he points his sword towards her. She lets out a gasp and knocks the wobbly pile over. It crashes to the ground all around her, making it difficult for her to escape.

Glint rushes forward and, before the girl even has a chance to run; he tackles her to the ground, pins her down with his knees and slits her throat with the dagger that she had been reaching for. There is no ripple of light, no flashing images, she is a real tribute. Looking at her and from the reaction of those in the room I think she is from District 6.

8_) Eoghan and Annie are positioned next to separate Cornucopias_.

On my screen Annie is now running through the arena. She has found a patch of trees that hide her. I look up at the map. One of the tiny red lights is moving away from the dam. Judging by how long it takes for the red light to move across the map I would guess that the arena is not that big. She hasn't been running for long and already she is a quarter of the way to the central cornucopia.

_9) On the map a fifth cornucopia is also positioned in the centre of the arena._

Hopefully this is where Glint and Eoghan will go too so they find Annie and the three of them can take on the arena together. I don't like the thought of Annie being on her own. She hasn't even bothered to pick up a weapon from the supplies.

Unable to think of anything else to add to my list I push my notebook towards Mags.

"So what do you think we should do?"

She looks over my list thoughtfully. "Not a lot we can do at the moment. I guess we'll just have to watch and see what happens."


	61. Chapter 61

I look at my watch. It is 11:26pm and still the arena is covered in brilliant sunshine as though it is midday. The light hasn't changed or wavered since the Games began. I wonder if it ever will. I am beginning to suspect that nothing in this arena is what it seems.

The Capitol drugs prevent me from feeling tired but I can tell by the look on Annie's face that she is exhausted. She reached the central cornucopia a few hours earlier after taking a winding route through the trees. She has stayed there ever since. Unlike in the other games the cornucopia looks ancient. It is covered in moss and vines and even the golden metal seems as though it is crumbling away, corroded by some unknown force. There are no weapons or other supplies within it. It is as if 70 years of tributes have plucked it completely clean. Annie sits on top of it, perched on her backpack to avoid burning herself on its faintly glowing surface. Her head nods forward but she jerks herself awake again, not allowing herself to give in to tiredness.

I glance up at the map. All the other tributes are still spread out in different areas so at least, in theory, she is still safe. In front of the cornucopia two past victors from District 1 have a conversation about tactics but they ignore Annie and she ignores them, somehow she seems to have things figured out. I have no idea how the Gamemakers have managed to make the holograms so life-like. They are eerily real. I don't think I will ever be able to look at a person again without questioning if they are a hologram. They could populate a whole city with them. The more time the holograms spend in the arena the more they seem to adjust to their environment and the more they behave like the actual tributes they represent. I have been checking all the monitors but still I have seen no sign a young Finnick Odair. I don't know whether to feel relieved or disappointed.

The anthem plays and the faces begin to appear in the sky. I am expecting a lot- ten cannons were fired after the initial bloodbath and two more since but when the faces appear there are only five. First there is the boy from District 5, followed by the girl from 6 that Glint killed, both tributes from District 8 and finally the boy from District 10. I guess the extra cannon shots must signify the destruction of one of the holograms. It will make it hard to keep track of the deaths in the arena.

It is hard watching Annie on the screen. In some ways she seems very close as I can watch her constantly but the closeness is only an illusion, some kind of tempting trick because I know I can't reach her. At quiet moments I play our last night together through in my mind- Anything to keep my growing sense of unease at bay. I try to remember every second, every single detail of it, even things I didn't think about while I was there like the flutter of the curtains in the evening breeze or the smell of her hair. Each time the daydream ends the same way, with the same perfect words repeated.

'I love you too.'

I wish I had a way of talking to her, of making sure she knew what's going on, of telling her how to find Eoghan. That way I know she would be alright. She looks so casual perched on top of the cornucopia. She could almost be anywhere, maybe sat on one of the rocks down by the beach at home or out on the balcony, or on the edge of the fountain in the square. There is none of the skittishness you often see with tributes. I don't know how she dares to be so blatant.

On Mags' screen Eoghan and Glint are crouched in some shrubs, giggling to each other like two naughty schoolboys as they watch Furia approach.

"Shall we jump out on her?" Eoghan asks, trying to stifle his laughter by covering his mouth with his t-shirt.

"Yeah, we could do. She might attack us, though," Glint says. "If we scare her enough." He almost seems to relish the idea of having to fight her but I'm sure he wouldn't want to destroy the alliance so soon.

They share fiendish grins as Furia steps closer, watching her in anticipation. Unlike Annie it is easy to tell that Furia is more than aware of her surroundings. Highly trained she is keen to seek out a fight, her hands gripped tightly around a heavy mace as she watches and listens for the telltale signs of a tribute. I'm not sure I would be so keen to startle her. They wait until she is just level with the edge of where they are hiding then the pair of them leap out, howling like wolves, laughing like maniacs, alerting the whole arena to their position. Idiots.

Furia swings her mace at them but Eoghan uses his sword to block her and Glint prises the mace from her grip with the blunt end of his spear.

"Now, now, District 2," Eoghan says wryly, "Play nice, we are all part of the same alliance, after all."

Furia steps back with a growl and the boys back away allowing her to pick up her mace again. "I hoped you two had died in the bloodbath."

"Sadly, the odds are not in your favour," Glint says, pulling a mock gloomy face. "Boohoo, how sad."

"I'm beginning to think this alliance is a bad idea," Furia says gruffly, "Where are the others? Quintus-?"

"No sign of them yet. Just the ghosts," Eoghan says. He is still grinning like an idiot. Somehow he has found a way to enjoy his time in the arena. Typical. I hope he stays this happy when things start getting serious.

"So… what now?" Furia asks, her grim expression suggests that she is pondering whether or not she should kill the pair of them and be done with it. I don't trust her. She is too wild to tame for long and they have already made her look stupid.

Glint seems to catch on quicker than Eoghan as he starts walking. "We should try covering as much ground as possible, that way we will either come across other tributes to hunt or the rest of the alliance."

Furia nods, following on behind, sniffing the air like a stumbles over some uneven ground but somehow manages to stay upright. Furia turns round to him. "Come and walk next to me," she says.

"Why? You want to hold hands?"

"No, I don't trust you not to trip over and accidently impale me with your sword."

"Who says that would be an accident?" Eoghan mutters under his glares at him.

A group of three red lights move across the map heading towards the cornucopia in the middle. I assume this must be them. Perfect. Eoghan will find Annie there and they will finally be together. Except when I turn back to my screen I see that Annie has packed up all her supplies and is starting to head off on her own. If she leaves now it could be days before they have a chance to find each other again. I have to make her stay.

"Mags, what can I do? I can't let her leave."

"Then send her a gift."

"What?"

Mags pushes the catalogue towards me. "Something for her to ponder, maybe it will make her stick around long enough."

"Right."

I glance at our current total funds from sponsors. There is more than enough to send Annie something at this early stage. The question is what. What could I send her that would make her stay? It would be no good sending her a weapon, that would probably give her the wrong impression and food probably wouldn't convince her to wait around long enough. It could be several hours before Eoghan and the others find the cornucopia. Whatever I send has to be in some way symbolic- something that tells her in no uncertain terms that she should wait.

I shift through the catalogue until something catches my eye that might work. I type in the code, watch the funds diminish and wait for the parachute to fall from the sky. She hasn't gone far from the cornucopia, if they came now they would still be able to find her.

Within a minute she receives the gift, it falls down in front of her, blocking her path. She crouches curiously and tentatively begins to unwrap it. When she pulls the red flag free from the container she holds it out in confusion, staring right down the camera at me. She must know I am watching. I chose it because it reminds me of the flags on the beach that warn about the tides. When the red flags are up we have to stay off the beach. I hope she gets the connotation. _Please understand, _I think. _Please understand. _It takes a moment for her bafflement to subside but when she throws down her backpack and sits down at the base of a tree I know she has got the message.

I glance back at the map. The three red lights are closer to the cornucopia now but they have headed a little off track in pursuit of another tribute. What is worrying, however, is the much more rapid approach of another tribute from the opposite side, already close enough to be seen in the distance on the monitor.

Telling her to stay was a mistake. I quickly scan the group of screens on the wall trying to figure out which tribute is close by but all the arena looks the same. Apart from just in front of the dam everywhere is rocky, dry and brown with scraggly trees and low shrubbery. It could be any of them approaching. I resist the urge to shout a warning. There is nothing I can do. Even if I could find another sponsor's gift there would not be time to send it and warn her. I hold my head in my hands. It is only the second day and already I have messed everything up. I am a terrible mentor.

"Finnick," I jump as Mags touches my arm then I turn towards the screen.

Annie is stood face to face with the small girl from District 3 who blinks across at her behind huge wired glasses. Both of them have frozen, unsure of what they are supposed to do next. The girl from District 3 pushes her glasses up her nose. She is very short but I get the impression that she is not quite as young as she looks.

"What do we do now," The girl whispers, clutching uncomfortably at her trousers.

"I suppose we have two choices," Annie replies with an air of confidence, "Either we both move away or we work together." Trust Annie not to even consider fighting to be an option.

The girl looks Annie up and down with suspicion. "Do you have a weapon?"

"No. Do you?"

The girl from 3 holds up a small wooden bow that has been snapped in half. "I lost the arrows."

The pair glare at each other, still unsure of how to proceed. Annie grabs hold of the strap on her backpack, which is still slumped on the ground, as if preparing to run.

"I didn't think I'd want an ally," the girl said, her voice is soft and nasal "I thought I would be better off alone. But now that I'm here… Where is your brother?"

Annie shakes her head, "I don't know. Somewhere else in the arena."

I can't help but glance up again at the red lights on the map. The three red dots are still making their way towards the cornucopia. They are so close and yet still so far.

"Would you mind if... if we teamed up, then?" The girl says. "I'm Bessemer- District 3."

"Annie- District 4." The pair of them cautiously shake hands, still keeping their distance from each other.

I look across at Beetee and Wiress to see if I can glean anything about the tribute from them but both seem engrossed in other matters as their boy tribute seems to be rounding up a group of the holograms and leading them like the pied piper through the arena.

"So what now?" Bessemer continues.

"I guess we move on," Annie says.

I want to scream at her. I thought she understood my message. I thought she knew that it meant she has to stay. How can she just forget about that so easily? Unless... unless she thought I told her to stay because I wanted her to form an alliance with Bessemer. My hearts sinks. What use is that little girl going to be in a fight to the death?

The two girls head away from the cornucopia, talking together in hushed voices. They set up a camp in a small alcove formed in the face of the rock and take it in turns to rest.

A few more hours pass before Eoghan's group reach the cornucopia, skulking around looking for supplies.

"There's nothing here," Furia says with disgust, "Nothing but that broken old thing," she hits her fist against the edge of the cornucopia.

None of them notice Annie's discarded backpack that has been thrown inside the mouth. They pay no attention to the way the dusty ground shows the faintest imprint of her footsteps. Eoghan pushes himself up onto the cornucopia and sits hunched over in the exact spot where Annie had sat a few hours before. If only he knew. If only she had stayed.


	62. Chapter 62

The Agora feels like a different place this year. The large circular room, teaming with potential sponsors somehow seems empty. Maybe it is just because I have my mind on other things but I suspect the true reason is that Hydra isn't here. Usually I would enter the room and she would swan over to me and coo about some rich person that I simply _had _to see because they were _dying_ to meet me. I had got a lot of sponsors that way. It didn't matter who I was mentoring just that I was the mentor. I guess that is still the case but without Hydra directing me I simply don't know where to begin. A lot of hopeful faces look up at me, willing me to go to them, but I don't want to waste my time talking, not when really I want my undivided attention to be with Annie and Eoghan.

I glance up at the main screen. The girl from District 7 is shown rushing under the gush of water that falls from the dam into the lake. She is followed closely by Quintus from District 2. He chases her like a wild animal, pushing his way through the shallow water at the endge of the lake, not even attempting to swim after her, even though it would probably be faster. He probably doesn't know how. Lots of people from Districts outside of 4 don't, I suppose they simply don't get the chance.

It is a horribel sight to watch a career hunting down his prey but still I breathe a sigh of relief. As long as Annie and Eoghan are off the main screen I know they must be safe. I can see each of them on the peripheral screens still just roaming endlessly around the arena.

"Ah, Finnick!" A bear-like man booms as he strides confidently towards me. "Fabricius Paxt, head of communications." He offers me his hand. "I was hoping I might run into you here. I have some absolutely excellent ideas involving you that I am sure you'll be keen to get involved with."

"I don't like to discuss other business when I'm mentoring," I tell him, pushing by his outstretched hand.

"It is at the President's request," he says, somehow keeping his booming voice low.

"Then tell the President to learn some patience." I am in no mood to deal with Snow and his minions today.

"I wouldn't dismiss me, Finnick. You know what happens when the President isn't pleased." He holds out his business card towards me and reluctantly I take it, slipping it into my pocket. It is no good, really, this will catch up with me in the end. "It is up to me to make sure you display the right public image. Anything that is broadcast about you must be under my control. I would hate for people to get the wrong impression."

"I think I know how to handle myself," I say, "After all, I have been doing it for years."

"Doubtful." He glances back towards the screen, his eyes lingering a moment on the screen that shows Annie. "Don't forget to contact me," he says, "I'm sure you would rather it wasn't the other way round." With a nod of his head he goes towards the door of the Agora but I stop him.

"Can I count upon you for sponsorship?"

He laughs a big booming guffaw, "You think it matters to me who wins? Believe me, it doesn't matter. Whoever they are I will make them who I want them to be. After all, I've been telling your story here in the Capitol for years. It is because of me that they love you and we both know I could have told a very different story, had I wished it."

_Yes_, I think, _You could have told the truth. _

He smarmily adjusts his tie then leaves the room. He must have come to the Agora specifically to speak to me. It is clear that he cares nothing for the Games. A strange position for someone in government but I suppose his agenda is different from most people's. He just wants the Capitol to look good which must be hard when the twelve districts are forced to watch their children die. Still they have been spinning stories about 'the honour of competing in the Games' for years I'm sure nothing could interfere with that now.

I glance back at the screens. The girl from 7 swims across the lake, evading Quintus who, forced to keep to the edges, cannot pursue her fast enough. On the bottom right-hand screen Annie and Bessemer look deep in conversation. I wish I could listen in on what they are saying but it is impossible while in the Agora. The only sound is linked to the footage on the main screen.

I look around the room searching for a familiar face, someone I can easily persuade to part with their money so I can get back to the control room. Some faces look familiar, although I can't name them. It is only when I look to the very corner of the room and spot Cardea Wanless, the rich socialite whose party I crashed with Annie and Eoghan, that I think I have a target.

She is sat on a long plush sofa, watching the screen while sipping on a neon pink cocktail. An Avox stands behind her, nervously awaiting her next seems to have a knack for always getting her own way.

I tiptoe over to her and kneel down at the back of the sofa, slowly bringing my mouth up close to her ear. "Hey beautiful," I purr, watching the way her hair flutters as my breath caresses it.

She squirms, letting out a playful giggle. "Oh Finnick, you tease."

I sit down next to her, purposefully making sure my arm rests behind her on the back of the sofa. She moves closer towards me, nestling herself into my shoulder.

"I was wondering when you were going to come and see me," she says.

"Well I just knew you wouldn't want to sponsor anyone else's tributes but mine and I couldn't have you waiting around all day," I lean in towards her, as if I'm tempted to kiss her. _Sorry Annie_, I think, _but I'm doing this for you and Eoghan. _

"No!" she says suddenly changing her tone and holding out a finger and forcing me back. "No business," she says. "Not now. I have a bone to pick with you!"

"What do you mean?"

"Why are you so cruel to me?" She wines, forcing her face into a childish pout,

"I could never be cruel to you, you know that."

"But just going off and leaving me like that. I thought we had something special," she isn't exactly being discreet, her voice is a little too raised so suddenly, despite the screens covering every wall and tributes fighting to the death, we are the top entertainment. "It was all over the papers," she says, "They kept asking me for interviews. I had hoped, once you saw them and saw how awful I felt, that you would come back to me."

I can't help but lean away from her. I am not exactly sure how I am meant to explain that I left her because Snow killed my parents and I no longer worked for him. It makes it particularly hard when the whole room is waiting for my explanation. The pair of us were always in the headlines about a year ago so I suppose everyone is just itching for the next instalment in our 'love affair'.

"Have you nothing to say," she presses me.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, wishing everyone would turn away and mind their own business. "Maybe we should discuss this somewhere a bit more…" I don't really want to leave the Agora because I will no longer be able to see what Eoghan and Annie are doing in the arena but I can't stand all the eyes on me. I need some space, a chance to try and figure this out.

"You think sorry is going to cut it?" Cardea says over the top of me, she ignores the suggestion that we should go somewhere else, I get the impression that she is enjoying the attention.

"There is not a lot more I can say."

I don't see it coming. I just glanced over to the wall to check the screens when her hand smacks against my cheek. I don't move but I can feel the heat slowly begin to rise where her hand made contact.

She withdraws with a squeak, holding her hands in front of her mouth, looking more shaken by the slap than I do. "You deserved that," she says as tears fill her eyes. "You deserved that."

I get to my feet. I've had enough of this. I'm going back to the control room. I don't want to be part of Cardea's performance any longer. I am probably one step away from getting that Neon cocktail thrown in my face too. "Look…"

She grabs hold of my hand, stopping me from leaving. I try to pull away but she is stronger than she looks.

"I loved you," she sobs. "I loved you so what right did you have to leave me?"

I want to run away from her. I don't think she means what she is saying. How could she? The only time we have spent together she paid for- I have never voluntarily led her on. Surely she must know that this is all a fantasy she has created. I don't know. Things in the Capitol are so complicated; the people, the politics, my feelings. Nothing is ever clear until I return back home. When I'm here I feel like I am living in a drunken haze.

I rip my hand away from her. "I'm done," I say. "I've got to get back."

She lets out a melodramatic cry, throwing herself down face-first onto the sofa, pounding her fists against the cushions.

I am just about to shout at her, to tell her to stop being so stupid because she is driving me insane when I see the main screen.

Clarity from District 1 pounces on Bessemer, kocking her to the ground. Her movements are so fast that is difficult to see exactly what is happening. From what I can tell Clarity is bludgeoning Bessemer's skull with some kind metal baton. It is so quick that she stands no chance of getting away. Annie has backed away from her ally and is standing completely still against the cliff face.

Only when the cannon fires does Clarity step away, standing perfectly upright and contemplating Annie. "You're from District 4," she says.

"Yes," Annie says, somehow keeping her voice steady when her whole body shakes. She doesn't look at Clarity, her eyes stay focused on the small form of Bessemer and the pool of blood that gradually grows beneath her.

"That means we're allies," Clarity continues, although she doesn't look very happy about it. She looks at Annie, takes in the strange expression on her face. "You do want to be allies, don't you?"

_Yes. _I will her to say. _Yes. Please say it. Yes! _But Annie is still looking at Bessemer, her eyes slightly glazed over. "It will be all right," she mutters quietly but it is more as if she is trying to reassure herself than answer Clarity.

"What?"

Annie finally looks up at the girl from one, finally loses the vacant look from her face and begins to focus again. "We should find the others."

She moves around the edge of the cliffs, leaving a wide berth between her and Bessemer and begins to follow Clarity.

I don't know how long this alliance can last. I don't trust Clarity. I am surprised that she didn't just kill Annie on the spot but then I suppose it's tough being in the arena alone, especially when you expected to have a whole pack by your side. She might think Annie is a weakling but I guess, in the end, it is better to have a weakling by your side than no one at all. I just hope this alliance holds out until Eoghan finds them. I search the screens for him. He is still with Furia and Glint in an indistinguishable part of the arena. It is impossible for me to tell how close he is to Annie. I just hope it isn't too far.

"Finnick! Finnick!" I don't know how long Cardea has been calling my name but it is only when Annie is no longer shown on the big screen that I dare to turn round. She has stopped crying and is looking at me with a different kind of interest- more like curiosity.

"I need to go back to the Control room," I tell her.

"I suppose you are looking for sponsorship for your little _tributes."_

"It is why I came here."

"Maybe we should discuss it over dinner sometime," she says, fluttering her eyelashes.

I don't answer that. I don't want to think about having to spend any more time with Cardea Wanless. So I give her an absent sort of wave and dash from the room to go and join Mags back at the desk.

The mood in the control room can only really be described as flat. All the remaining mentors slouch in their chairs, chugging on drinks and stuffing their faces with food. Sometimes it doesn't matter what is going on in the arena or that we are all drugged to stop us falling asleep because sometimes we still have to behave like people and do normal things. Johanna is flicking through a magazine while two of the guys are playing a game of chess. The mentors from District 9, who I have never spoken to before, are playing a Game of 'guess that tribute' where they try to identify all of the holograms in the arena.

I throw myself into the chair next to Mags. "Any luck?" she says.

"Not really. Glad you've been here to hold the fort, though."

"They're getting close to each other," Mags says, nodding towards the screen.

"How close?"

"Close enough that they should definitely meet."

I slip on the headphones so I can listen into Annie's conversation with Clarity. She still seems on edge, not quite herself, but Clarity doesn't seem to notice this. As the pair of them trudge over a patch of rocky terrain Clarity crouches down and pulls up an abandoned axe.

"Here you should have this," she says, "You need a weapon." She holds it out towards Annie but Annie doesn't move. "Go on, take it," Clarity says. She stretches a little further towards Annie to make it easier for her to reach but still Annie doesn't move. "Come on." She begins to sound a little impatient. "Take it!" She shakes the axe but it makes no difference.

The axe falls to the ground as Clarity is startled by a battle cry. She turns just in time to see two boys rushing towards them, weapons raised.

"You're on your own," she says to Annie, as she meets the nearest of the two boys, beating his arm with her baton.

Annie, completely stunned, freezes as the other charges at her with a sword. The axe is still lying on the ground, easily within her reach. _Pick it up, _I think, but she doesn't. When she finally comes to her senses she darts round, putting nothing but a group of rocks between her and her assailant. I find myself looking around the arena for options even though I know I can't help her, Clarity is right; at moments like this the tributes really are on their own.

The boy lunges with the sword towards her and it clatters on the ground. Annie dodges round him, searching for the next place that offers her some protection. She skids around a tree, almost completely losing her balance.

I can't breathe; I can't stand to watch it. _Not Annie, not my Annie. Come on, come on…_

Clarity is still fighting the other boy who is fending her off with a javelin. If only she would defeat him then maybe she can help Annie. They are supposed to be allies.

Annie is forced towards the rock face by her pursuer- I think he is the boy from 6. She looks around for an escape but there isn't one. It is a complete dead-end, there is nowhere for her to go. She dodges his first strike and darts forward to kick his shins but it is a useless defence against a sword. He grunts when she strikes but it doesn't stop his attack. He swipes and jabs aimlessly, waving his arms in all directions as he struggles to catch her. His only skill seems to be his determination. He is relentless in his attack. _This is it. There is no way she can escape. There is nothing I can do. She's gone. I've lost her. _

"Hey!" Something I can only describe as hope rises in my stomach as I recognise the voice. Eoghan.

The boy from District 6 turns, giving Annie just long enough to dart out of the crevice. She ducks behind her brother.

"Are you alright?" Eoghan asks, paying more attention to Annie than the attacker.

The tribute from 6 raises his sword so it is level with Eoghan's neck and slowly, very deliberately begins to swing it.

"Eoghan!" Annie screams.

Eoghan turns just in time, using his sword to deflect the potentially fatal blow. He uses the block to shove the tribute back, pushing him against the rocks where he had trapped Annie. "You mess with my sister," Eoghan says, "And you mess with me." He drives his sword into the boy's chest. It is so quick, so easy, that even he looks surprised. There was no attempt from the boy to block him, either he lacked the skills or somehow misread what was happening.

As Eoghan yanks his sword from the boy's ribcage every inch of colour drains from his face. Annie grabs hold of him and the pair of them stagger back together as the cannon booms.

"You killed him," Annie says.

"Yeah," Eoghan replies, sounding dazed. He pushes Annie aside and, zombie-like, throws himself to his knees retching into the closest shrub.

"You killed him," Annie repeats but the sound of her voice is blocked out by the yells of the other careers as the other boy limps away, leaving a trail of blood behind him.

"Leave him," Clarity says, "He's dead anyway. Let him suffer."

"So we're all together now," Glint says with a grin.

"Almost," Furia adds, "There is still Quintus."

"He's not joining," Clarity says, "I was with him at the cornucopia. He's going solo."

"So, as I said, we're all together now," Glint says.

The three of them turn to look at our tributes. Eoghan is still heaving in the shrubs while Annie stares at the boy from District 6, just as she stared at Bessemer before. It is a look of confusion, sorrow, shock all mixed together but there is something more, something I don't understand. She'll be alright, though, Eoghan is with her now. He'll make sure she is alright. I know it. Once he stops throwing up…


	63. Chapter 63

Eoghan covers his face with his jacket to block out the glaring sunlight that still covers the whole of the arena but even then he can't lie still. He turns one way, then the other. He sighs in exasperation. One moment I think he has closed his eyes to sleep and the next he is sat up, responding to something I don't quite see. He stares into the distance then shakes his head, turning over again to face Annie.

She is stood against a tree, her cheek pressed to the rough and flaking trunk. She slowly peels away the bark, throwing the pieces onto the brown grass. Eoghan scrambles to his feet and joins her by the tree, tiptoeing over their comrades.

"You should be asleep," she says.

"I figured I would keep watch with you, you know, make sure you're alright."

"You don't need to worry about me," she says a little too quickly to sound natural.

"I know really," he says. Again his attention is drawn towards the trees but there is nothing there. "I can't stop thinking about that boy."

"What boy?"

"From Six."

Annie freezes- just for a second then begins to tear some of the bark off the tree crumbling it to dust. "Do you remember when we were children and father took us out on the boat and we went as far away as we could- until we reached the boundary line?" as she rambles she presses her forehead against the tree trunk, no longer looking at Eoghan. "And he told us that it was endless- that we could keep sailing forever if we wanted and no one could touch us because no one owns the sea. I like that. I think that is why I like looking out to see, because it's like looking at freedom."

"Annie…?" Eoghan touches Annie's arm, she moves away from him, twisting round to the other side of the tree.

"I think that's where he went. Maybe next summer we could go look for him."

"Annie!" He grabs hold of her arms and forces her to stand still and look at him. "I want to talk to you. I killed someone today; I stabbed him and saw the life drain out of him. I-"

"I don't want to think about it!" she says in a whisper that is dangerously close to a scream. "Please."

"But I only did it to save you. I wouldn't have otherwise."

Annie pulls her hands out of his grasp and clamps them over her ears. Eoghan lets out a sigh, holding his head in his hands. I know how he feels. He wants someone to tell him that it is alright, that he did the right thing, that he had no other choice. He wants to talk about it, to normalise it somehow because it is never really going to feel right. But if he is looking for high-fives and congratulations then he will need to turn to someone other than Annie.

"I didn't ask you to do it," she says, lowering her hands from her ears. "You could have just let him… I didn't want anyone to die for my sake."

"I didn't have a choice, you're my sister. I couldn't just let him kill you."

"OK." She says, before he can add anything else. She moves back round to the other side of the tree staring off into the distance.

"I'm not going to let it change me, though."

Both Eoghan and Annie turn as a young girl flies through the trees followed closely by another. Eoghan grabs Annie and pulls her back round the other side of the trees but Annie pushes him aside.

"They're holograms," she says.

"How do you know?"

"Because I would recognise the others."

The first girl is lumpish with frizzy red curls that make her whole head look as though it is on fire. She looks over her shoulder, obviously running in fear of the girl who is following close behind her. The pursuer has a sharp object in her hand but it can't quite make it out. She seems to spend too long watching her opponent, though, because she doesn't look where she is going and she falls down onto the hard grass.

Before she has a chance to get fully to her feet the other girl kicks her to the floor and pushes her face into the ground, using her frizzy red hair as a handle. I can see her more clearly now. The sharp object in her hand is an awl like the kind my father used to repair the sails on his fishing boat. This and her long wavy blonde hair, tanned skin and familiar green eyes lead me to the same conclusion: she must be from District Four. We have only had two female victors, Caitria and…

"Mags…?"

I watch the girl closely as she jams the awl into the other girl's eyes, blinding her then forces the sharp point through her neck as she mutters and curses. It is an action that would only be performed by the harshest of careers. The pair might only be holograms but the agony on the girl's face, the pain she feels, seems real. Somehow I can't see how this could be the Mags that I know; the kind and gentle Mags who always looks out for everyone else before she considers herself.

"Is that really you?"

"Well I wasn't always this old." She watches the screen without sadness or fear. It is more like acceptance, as if she has somehow come to peace with the whole experience. I don't know how she has managed that. I know, as long as I live, I will never find peace for what I did in the arena.

"But…"

"I was angry," she says. "We all were. We lost everything after the Dark Days. We had hoped that things would get better but they didn't. There was a lot of anger. A lot of hate. A lot of blame. The funny thing was that I thought by killing the others I was somehow proving a point... but people change. I've learnt a lot of things since then."

The hologram yanks the awl from the girl's neck and wipes it off on the grass. She doesn't look at Annie and Eoghan or acknowledge them but charges off across the arena searching for her next victim.

"It couldn't have been easy."

"No. But when you have people who need you- who rely on you- you start to realise that anger isn't enough," she slips her hand into mine and smiles at me. I can't see how the girl I saw in the arena ever smiled like that. Maybe there is still hope for me to make amends, after all.

"Do you… do you remember much about what things were like in the Dark Days?" I have never really considered it before. Everyone always talks about the Dark Days as though they happened centuries ago. It makes it easy to forget how some people might still remember what it was like, that there are still people who lived through them. I guess there are lots of things that I should have asked Mags about but somehow never have.

"Not much. I was very young. I just remember sitting beneath a huge tree in a meadow with the sunlight falling through the leaves- a meadow in District 4- can you imagine? And how the adults were always talking in hushed voices about things I didn't understand. I don't remember seeing any fighting; children weren't involved in that sort of thing." She glances back at the screen as if to add 'unlike now'.

If Annie and Eoghan know what they just saw neither of them mention it. They stand by the tree watching the image of the dead victor flickering before it disappears entirely.

"We should wake the others," Eoghan says, "We have been here long enough."

"Eoghan-"

"What now?"

"You don't… you don't trust them, do you?"

"They are our allies," he says.

"But how long is that going to last? We're not like them."

"No, Annie, _you're_ not like them but_ I_ can do this."

After getting to know some of the victors from Districts one and two I have come to wonder if anyone really is a Career tribute, not in every sense of the word, anyway. They may train for years on how to use weapons but the mentality of being a career is usually completely alien. There are only a few instances where I have genuinely been able to believe that someone enjoys killing but usually there comes a point when the smiles fade, the cruelty subsides and the scared child shows through.

I can see why Eoghan aspires to be like a true career- there is something very appealing about being completely unaffected by the horrors around you. It means that you don't have to deal with the consequences. It can make you feel strong. It can make you believe that things are alright- that they really should be cheering your name in the streets and celebrating you.

No one wants to feel like a weakling.

But Eoghan isn't going to fool them- there are already flaws in his persona. His emotions have betrayed him. His love for Annie is evident and I don't see how he can still care for her but allow himself to lose all feelings. She is a weakness to him in the arena. Every time he saves her from an attack he is just making that clearer to the others. Then there is his reaction to his first kill. His body betrayed him too. The others wouldn't have missed that either. It's a mistake for him to overlook this. We have to make sure he doesn't begin to feel too safe in the alliance.

Eoghan wakes their companions but Annie stands well back, as if she already believes that the others might turn on her. As the group gather up their supplies they are interrupted by the arrival of a silver parachute that floats down landing in the middle of the group.

"I wonder who it's for," Mags says.

Clarity, Glint, Furia and Eoghan all gather round it, looking at each other, waiting to see who is going to claim it. Annie doesn't even try to see it. Whatever it is that has been sent it is hidden in a small red box.

"Who's going to claim it?" Clarity says eagerly.

"There is no way of knowing who it is for," Glint adds.

"Maybe it is for everyone," Eoghan says.

"I'll open it," Furia says, leaning in and grabbing the box before the others have a chance. "It's probably for me, anyway," she adds.

Glint mutters something to Eoghan under his breath which I don't quite catch but they both snigger. Furia stops opening the box and turns her fists towards them.

"Something funny?"

"Er… no," Glint says. When Furia turns back towards the box he rolls his eyes.

It takes her some time to tear it open but as soon as she pulls back the lid some sort of mist sprays over the four of them.

"What's that?" It's the strangest sponsor's gift that I have ever seen. What is it meant to do? It must help them in some way. I look across at the District 2 desk but Enobaria looks just as confused as I do. She couldn't have sent the gift. I look over at Cashmere and Ace who talk frantically in a frenzied whisper. I guess it was them. They must be pretty annoyed that Glint and Clarity didn't get the full benefit of the gift.

It is only when Clarity begins to scream that I begin to think it is unlikely. The four of them claw at their faces as their skin begins to froth and blister.

"Which one of you did this!" Enobaria screams across the room.

Eoghan drops to his knees, rolling around the floor in agony, clutching at his neck where most of the misty spray caught him. A white residual power clings to his skin which has turned bright red, firey spots spreading across his body.

"We have to help him," I grab the catalogue and turn to the index, trying to find something that might help.

"We don't know what it is," Mags says.

"It's burning him, we have to do something."

All the other careers are screaming, thrashing about, clutching at blades of grass. The pain must be unimaginable. I can see Clarity begin to lose consciousness, her eyes slowly slipping. She tries to crawl away, frantically trying to hold on- to stay awake just a little longer...

Annie rushes over and throws a whole bottle of water over Eoghan's head and neck, washing away most of the powder but stil he writhes. The skin where the powder touched begins to peel away to open sores. What if it just keeps on eating all his skin?

Mags fingers tap over the controls, keying in some sort of code. Moments later another parachute falls right into Annie's lap- a large bottle of brown liquid.

She uncorks the top and sloshes some of the liquid over Eoghan's neck. At first it seems to make no difference at all, he still continues to grunt and groan, his eyes flckering but then his panic begins to calm. She pours a little of the liquid onto the bottom of her jacket then presses it to his skin until his limbs relax and he lies panting on the grass.

Still carrying the bottle Annie goes over to the other three and administers the same aid until all of them lay exhausted but alive. Poor lovable Annie won't even let her opponents suffer. She is better than the lot of them.

"What was in the bottle?" I ask Mags.

"Vinegar," she replies, "To neutralise it. I thought it was worth a shot- it could have gone one of two ways"

"You didn't know which?"

She shrugs, "Sometimes you just have to take a chance."

I turn back to the screen. Annie pours the last of the vinegar onto Glint's hand then places the empty bottle into her backpack. She sits down next to Eoghan, watching him closely.

"Are you alright?"

He doesn't reply, but he looks up at her with a faint smile.

"What did you do that for?" Furia asks when she can finally catch her breath.

"We're allies," Annie says simply. "Beisdes. No one deserves that."


	64. Chapter 64

When Wiress returns to the Control Room I know they will be coming for me next. They like to take the mentors one at a time for interviews to discuss how we think our tributes are doing, what we think of the arena and to give us an opportunity to appeal to sponsors. At the beginning of the Games these interviews happen every few days but as it approaches the end interviews can happen several times a day. We also have to be interviewed when our tribute dies in the arena. Those are the worst. I always think, no matter what I say, it just sounds like an excuse. The bottom line is always the same- I am giving this speech because I have not only let District 4 down but, more importantly, I have let a family down. Of course this year, no matter what happens, I am going to let Mr Cresta down.

As I glance across at the big screens where the boy from District 12 is sharpening a stone on the cliff face, a woman with a bright green bob pokes her head around the door. I get to my feet even before she asks me to. I know the routine.

I follow her down the hallway, making a point of walking a few steps behind her in hope that I don't have to make conversation. Unfortunately she doesn't pick up on this so witters incessantly to me the whole way.

"I absolutely love your tribute this year!" she coos. She means Annie as officially that is who I am mentoring, even though we are working as a team. "She is such a sweetie. It's a shame she won't make it to the end."

"Have you been checking your crystal ball or something?" I hate it when these Capitol citizens speak as though the tributes don't matter- that their deaths are just minor mishaps in the grand scheme of things. _Oh what a Shame. Oh well, there will always be more next year. _It is particualrly bad when she is talking about Annie. My Annie.

"What?"

"You seem to think you know the conclusion of the Games."

"Well, you know, betting odds and all that…"

"But you don't _know _so I would rather you didn't presume. You may not care that much about what happens to the tributes but I do."

Maybe I am a little too short with her. It is not her fault that she is a complete airhead, after all. I stop feeling sorry for her, however, when she begins to complain to me about the waiting list she has been put on for permanent false nails. _Five months! It's an abomination! _It's a must-have procedure, apparently, because who would want to always have the hassle of cutting their nails? And it is such a big problem when you break a nail or they are too short to look nice. It would make things so much easier. And really it isn't _too _expensive when you consider all that. But Five months really is too long to wait… I am pleased when we reach the interview room and she has no choice but to shut up and leave me alone.

As soon as I open the door Fabricius Paxt descends upon me, directing a skeletally thin woman to straighten my clothes and brush them down and to fix my hair. Intermingled with Paxts directions to the woman he also directs me.

"Now Finnick this is the first interview of yours since the new regime so I want to be sure that we get everything right- style his hair more to the left- the left Marjory- the left! I am not going to give you too much direction today because I want to be sure of the baseline where we are starting from- not like that, for goodness sake, do I have to do everything myself!"

Paxt pushes Marjory out of the way, grabbing the spray from out her hand and flourishes the mist across my face. I flinch remembering the misty spray in the arena and then begin gagging as I choke on the cloying scent.

"Now, we did think it would be a good idea if we built up the relationship between you and the President. It has been suggested that we imply that you and the president have a personal bet going- you know like friends do- get out of the way Marjory, let Augusta through." Another woman pushes her way forward, shoving the trademark white rose into my buttonhole. I am never seen in public without it these days. "So, obviously you have bet on Annie. We think it will give a sense of camaraderie between the two of you. The viewers will like that. So if you could just slip that in…"

I am whisked over to the sofa where Caesar is already waiting so we can begin the three minute interview. It is possible that the footage won't get used. They often only play the highlights- sometimes they use earlier interview material at a later time instead if the mentor isn't around but that's rare. Certain Districts and certain tributes seem to get more camera time than others and this is no different with the mentors. With Snow's new agenda, though, I am pretty sure that whatever I say is going to be edited and used tonight.

Caesar begins the interview by generally reminding the viewers about Annie's story and then he runs chronologically through the Games so far, asking for my take on certain things.

"So, Finnick, what were you thinking when you saw Annie helping the tributes from Districts One and Two when she could have just left them to die at the hands of the deadly parachute?"

"Well at this stage, as she said, they are all part of the same alliance. I know it is unusual to see generosity like that in the arena but Annie isn't like other tributes. I'll tell you, she is certainly one to watch!"

"Is it true that you and the President have a bet between the pair of you?"

I want to say no- to prove to them that I am not Snow's puppet but while Annie and Eoghan are in the arena I know I have to play along. It would be too easy for a Gamemaker's finger to hit the wrong button and destroy them both. "That's right, Caesar, I'm so confident about Annie that I bet the President that she is going to win."

"And was he," Caesar's eyes sparkle, "Reluctant to take that bet?"

"Well, it was his idea to take bets so I guess not." At least this way they know it was not my idea. "But seriously, even if Annie wasn't my tribute, I think I would still bet on her. No doubt she'll just keep on surprising us."

A few questions later and Caesar rounds the interview up and tells me I had better get back to the Control Room. When the cameras stop rolling I shake hands with Caesar and head straight to the door but Paxt doesn't let me get there. He loops his arm through mine and sweeps me over to the corner of the room for a 'debrief'

"I think that went pretty well," he says.

"Thanks," I reply, trying to push my way past him.

"But we need to think about your personal life."

"What do you mean?"

"It's not just about what you say in interviews. It is the whole package that we are after. Now, I noticed in an earlier interview you mentioned something about settling down."

"Yes."

"No."

"But-"

"No. No settling down- not for you. No one wants to see that. No one is interested in Finnick Odair loyal boyfriend or Finnick Odair family man. And if they aren't interested in you then your alliance with the President is meaningless. We need your popularity to remain in peak position but to do that we need to sell papers, get news stories going again- things have been a bit quiet the last year. Now we need to spice things up a bit. The best way to do that is a new romance."

I can see where this is heading. This is just another way for President Snow to get exactly what he wants. I refused to sell my body for him so now he is finding a new, subtler way to make me do it. I really am just a commodity.

"I'm not interested in any new romances."

"Well I don't think you have much choice. I already have the perfect candidate lined up."

I groan. "It's not Cardea is it?"

"You will find out in due course."

"Thanks, I look forward to it. Can I go now?" I take a few steps away from him but turn over my shoulder again when he begins to speak.

"Finnick, you know it doesn't have to be real, don't you? As long as people think it is then it doesn't matter. You help me make sure we get the right footage and I don't care how far you take it."

"You mean I don't have to…"

"Just make love to the cameras!" Paxt says dramatically.

I guess that is something. It is better than going back to where I was before anyway.

I half walk, half jog back to the Control Room, eager to find out what is happening. Soon Mags will be taken for her interview about Eoghan so I had better make sure that I am there otherwise something bad is bound to happen. It always seems to be the way that when the desk is empty disaster strikes.

"What have I missed?"

"Not much," Mags replies.

"No more Gamemaker gifts?" None of us have any doubt that it was the Gamemakers who sent that parcel. I only hope that the tributes have also realised that and don't think the mentors have turned on them.

"No, a few holograms are leading them a dance but nothing new."

She hands me my headphones and I slip them over my head. I glance up at the screen, taking in the Career group who stand at a distance watching a couple of holograms that have all assembled around some trees. I take in the faces of the holograms, trying to figure out if they are someone I recognise. My gaze fixes on a boy with deep brown hair and a wide, droopy mouth. I am sure I know him from somewhere but I don't know where. I can't quite picture his Games. I am sure I have never seen him mentoring. Then it clicks.

"That's not a hologram- that's the boy from District 11," I whisper to Mags. He moves in the exact same way as the holograms, slightly jerky around the edges. I have no idea how he has managed to mimic it so well but he does perfectly.

The girl with the bright green bob appears at the door and asks for Mags to follow her. She reluctantly gets out her seat.

"You'd better keep an eye on that. "

Glint gestures for the others to silently move forward to approach the holograms, "Might as well get some practice in," he says.

The group edge forward, Glint leading the way and Annie hidden behind Eoghan. They tread softly so they cannot be heard. The holograms and the boy from District 11 seem completely oblivious to their approach… until someone steps on a twig.

The snapping of the wood is loud enough to startle the holograms. The boy from District 11 grabs his belongings and sprints out of the trees, charging off into the distance.

"Come on!" Furia screams as she rushes after him. The others follow, not wanting to be left behind.

Before the group reach them the holograms begin to run too. Except they are not running away like the boy from District 11, they are running towards them. The first reaches Clarity whose long legs have sped her ahead of the others. The hologram charges at her with a sickle, slashing the air aggressively. This is the first time I have seen a hologram start a fight. It doesn't faze Clairity, though; she confidently fights with her baton in one hand and a knife in the other. It is only when her knife glances the side of the hologram that she moves back in surprise.

The hologram doesn't flicker and fade as they usually do. Instead a thick, black, oozing goo begins to seep from the wound. It isn't a hologram any longer. This is bad. Really bad.

I almost jump out of my skin when someone taps me on the shoulder. I slip my headphones down onto my shoulders and, reluctant to turn away from the fight, I only half turn to face the visitor.

It is a man dressed all in black. The kind I now know I should avoid.

"Could you step outside with me, Mr Odair?"

"I am needed here," I say. I am not going to leave the desk- not when something like this is happening. I swing my chair back round to face the screen. I am about to replace my headphones when a hand is placed on my shoulder again but this time it pushes downward putting pressure on my bones.

"This will only take a moment," he says through gritted teeth.

So once again I go outside and the pair of us stand in the corridor. "It is my duty to let you know that the trial begins tomorrow and you must attend."

Hydra's trial. I had forgotten all about that.

"But I am needed here," I repeat again.

The man in black shrugs. "Not my problem," and he walks away.

I push on the door to the Control Room just as the cannon booms. I knew I shouldn't have left the desk.


	65. Chapter 65

**AN: Sorry for the delay in posting I have been ill and stuck in bed for a few days, not exactly ideal for writing. Luckily I am on the mend so on with the story...**

* * *

><p>As I hear the sound of the cannon I am sure it is one of them. The intense feeling of dread that sinks down in the bottom of my stomach tells me it is. I looked away for the briefest of moments and now they are gone. I burst through the doors of the Control Room, desperate to find out what has happened yet, at the same time, terrified of what I might find. However, when I check the screens both Annie and Eoghan are still there, stood over the bodies of two dead holograms. They are safe. Then who…<p>

Quickly I glance at each of the desks, looking for a clue, trying to figure out what has happened. When I look across at the District 9 desk I see Challah getting to her feet, scooping up her bag from under the table. She mutters something to her partner and then wearily walks away. It must have been the girl from District 9. She wasn't even in the same group. She could have been halfway across the other side of the arena. I guess the boy from eleven got away unharmed, though I don't know how. I think that brings the death count up to eight- a slow beginning to the Games but hopefully enough has been happening to keep everyone watching.

"Well they're certainly not ghosts anymore," Glint says.

"Mutts," Furia says, curling her lip in disgust.

I guess she must be right. I never thought of it before- never considered that it might be possible for the Capitol to create something close to human life. It is one thing for them to make jabberjays and tracker jackers and other animals but humans...? Do they think like humans? Do they feel like humans or are they just mindless killers in human form? What is to stop the Capitol from creating an army of these mutts and using them against the Districts? The possibilities are endless. Out of all the things they have done this has got to be one of the worst. It is an abomination against humanity. Everything about it just feels wrong.

And they look like us. What did they do- pluck out a few hairs while we were sleeping? Scrape inside our mouths while we weren't looking? Is any part of those things also part of us or is it all really just an illusion? It is as if the Gamemakers want to turn the tributes against their mentors by transforming them into killing machines in the arena and sending fake sponsor's gifts to create an element of distrust between the two groups.

I am almost glad that Mags isn't here because I honestly don't know what to say. One thing is clear, though, they have crossed the line.

I try to forget about it as I focus back on the screens. The group edges away from the bodies. Annie and Eoghan walk together, neither of them say a word but Eoghan never lets Annie out of his sight.

Furia slips back in the group letting Glint and Clarity overtake her so she walks level with Annie and Eoghan.

"How come you don't have a weapon?" she asks Annie, jabbing her in the side with one of her bony fingers.

"She doesn't need one," Eoghan quickly replies which is just as well as Annie's mind seems to have wandered elsewhere.

"Hand to hand combat? Then why didn't I see you fighting?" Furia persists, still honing all her energy in on Annie and completely blanking Eoghan. "You scared?"

But still Annie stares off into the distance.

Finally Furia turns to Eoghan, "Is she even in there?"

"Annie?" Eoghan says gently.

"When we die do you think they'll make mutt versions of us too?" She says as though she is continuing the conversation.

"I'm beginning to wonder what the point is in having her in the group," Furia says loudly so Glint and Clarity can hear too. "Seems like she's a bit of a dead weight to me."

The group stops walking and turn to face each other. Eoghan sticks close to Annie, firmly gripping his sword. "We need her in the group," he says.

"What for?" Clarity asks, "She's done nothing since she's got here."

"But I've done things," Eoghan says, "And I'm not staying in the group without her."

"Fine," Furia says swinging her mace towards Eoghan. He blocks it just in time with his sword, dodging out of the way as she goes in for a second strike.

"Stop it!" Annie shouts, her voice rising above the clang of their weapons.

Furia and Eoghan stop, they lower their weapons and take a step back. They stare at Annie- Furia with a look of repulsion and Eoghan with a look of curiosity.

"I don't need a weapon," She continues, "and I don't fight in combat because that's not what I am good at."

"Then what are you good at," Clarity asks, making it very clear by the tone of her voice that she thinks there is no way Annie could possibly be very good at anything.

"She saved our lives," Eoghan says.

Furia says, "We save hers every time we fight and she doesn't."

"So what are you good at?" Clarity persists in the same tone as before.

"Making traps," Annie says.

Clarity gives a snort but Glint regards her with curiosity. "What kind of traps?"

"For people," she says quietly, "We could set them up across the arena in lots of different places- that way we could cover more ground at once and then…"

Glint nods, "That could be useful."

"Seems pretty pathetic to me," Clarity says.

Furia shrugs," I guess we can get her to set them up and then kill her afterwards." She pushes past Eoghan and continues walking. Clarity does the same, sticking her nose up in the air as though she can smell something particularly unpleasant.

Glint pats Eoghan on the arm and gives him a reassuring nod before continuing after the others. When they are completely out of earshot Eoghan turns to Annie and nudges her playfully.

"That was good," he whispers.

"Well I figured I couldn't depend completely on you for my survival. I just… I just hope they don't catch anyone. That would be terrible."

For the next hour the group does nothing but wander through the arena looking for people. Considering the number of tributes left and the number of holograms or potential mutts it is surprising that they don't see anyone else. I follow their route on the map watching the zigzag line they mark out heading towards the lake. I turn back towards my monitor, though, when I hear Eoghan exclaiming loudly.

"But I thought we were heading away from it."

The withered form of the cornucopia stands before them, just as it had before. The vines still block the entrance and the gold still looks corroded and worn.

"We were," Clarity agrees.

"Maybe it is one of the other ones?"

Furia shakes her head, "They took those away after the first day."

"We must have been travelling in circles."

Only they hadn't. I had seen them trace the path along the map and they should be nowhere near the cornucopia. It is yet another trick of the Gamemakers. They really are pulling out all the stops this year.

"Well we had better press on, then," Glint says, "We need to refill our water bottles."

So they set off again choosing their direction based on the position of the cornucopia. Except, instead of leading them towards the dam and the lake to the west it directs them towards the north of the arena. I guess they rotated the cornucopia as well, just to make it extra confusing.

They walk for another couple of hours before the cornucopia reappears. This time they approach it from behind.

"Another circle?"

"That doesn't make sense," Annie says, "We walked in a straight line."

A parachute falls from the sky and lands at Glint's feet. The whole group take a step back, staring at the package with suspicion.

"Are you going to open it?" Clarity asks, unable to hide the nervousness in her voice. Her face is still covered in scars from the last sponsor's gift.

"What if it's another trap?" Eoghan says.

"Can you see what it is?" Furia asks.

Glint kicks the parachute aside with his foot, revealing another red box. He staggers back away from it.

"It must be another trick. The last one was in a red box too."

"But what if it is something useful?"

The five of them stop and stare, unsure of what to do, then Furia pushes Annie forwards, "You open the box."

"What?"

"Want to make yourself useful? Well here's how." She gives Annie another shove.

"That's not fair." Eoghan is pulled back out the way and held in place. "Annie, you don't have to do this," he says, as he tries to fight against Furia but she holds him tightly.

"You're not coming to her rescue this time," she says to him then she turns back to Annie. "Prove to us you're not a coward."

The rest of the group step back, leaving Annie in the centre with the red box. My stomach lurches. Who sent that? Is it another trick or just made to look like one?

Feeling the pressure of the group Annie tentatively steps forwards and kneels at an arm's distance from the box.

"Go on, go on," Clarity wills her.

Annie screws up her face, mutters something to herself, takes a deep breath and rips open the box. For a moment the whole group is completely frozen, waiting to see what will happen. Almost a whole minute passes before they realise that nothing has.

Annie opens her eyes, peers inside the box and pulls out two bottles of water. She throws the first to Glint and the second to Clarity. "It landed by your feet," she says, "So I guess it must be yours.

Furia's jaw tightens, clearly put out that she is not the one receiving gifts. "Come on," she says, "We can't walk in circles all day. I'll lead the way."

So the group sets off again.

Mags lowers herself into her chair next to me, grabbing her headphones. "Anything happened?"

"More tricks. The Gamemakers are having fun with the recognisable landmarks- making them think they are going round in circles. And the holograms have become mutts. How was the interview?"

"Fine, hopefully it will encourage a few more sponsors."

I glance up at the screen, the group are still just wandering along and the map shows there are no other tributes around. "Do you mind if I go and catch a bit of fresh air?"

"No problem, the place is getting a bit stuffy."

I get up and head outside. I am surprised to find that it is early evening and everywhere is aglow with street lights. After the constant glare of the arena and the artificial lights that are always on in the Control room it is easy to forget that anyone gets to see darkness. It is like coming back from another world.

I lean against the outside of the building, lurking in the shadows where hopefully no one will recognise me. As I stand there watching the cars and people go by I notice a single man stood across the street beneath the glow of a lamppost holding a placard. I squint trying to make out what it says.

'SAY NO TO HUMAN MUTTS'

All the cars drive straight past him and the people walking by pretend they don't see him. In some ways it is as if he isn't there at all which is funny as he might be the only voice of reason in this whole city.

Part of me wants to go over to him, salute him for what he is doing but I have other considerations these days. I don't think Snow would approve.

Every time I look at him I get the impression that I have seen him somewhere before. I fully take in his face and the black clothes and it finally hits me- I met him at Plato's, the underground forum of the rebellion. He was there clutching leaflets promoting freedom. Good to see someone hasn't given up the fight.

Suddenly I get the feeling that he is looking right at me and, despite the shadows, he knows exactly who I am. He must hate me now, giving up everything to save myself while he continues with the cause. Yet there is no hatred in his expression. He winks at me and holds his placard a little higher in a gesture of unity. We both turn away and our eyes don't meet again.


	66. Chapter 66

The doors to the courtroom open and I am ushered inside. The walls, floors and ceiling are covered in white marble. All round the edge of the room large pillars support many levels balconies that stretched up towards the domed ceiling. Groups of people stare down at me in wonderment; small binoculars perched on their noses. The whole place is more like an opera house than the justice building back home.

It is a long walk down the aisle to reach the judge's bench and the witness stand at the front. This gives me lots of time to further take in my surroundings. As I look up I notice that fixed to each of the ginormous pillars is a television screen. They are probably there because the courthouse is so large they are needed so everyone can see what is going on, only they aren't showing the courthouse at all, but the Hunger Games. Even the soft echoes of the tributes voices can be heard in the background, mingled with the usual courthouse ambiance.

Across rows of seating there are more aisles. This is where the camera crew has been positioned. I guess there must be tracks built all the way down because as I walk a man and a large camera gently glide along at the same speed, capturing my every step. I understand now why I was descended upon by another prep team and the rose was forced back onto my lapel. This is another circus- another form of entertainment.

Finally I reach the front. I am directed to the left of the judge and I take my place at the witness stand. I place my statement down on the ledge before me and take another look around. From here is it easier to see the rest of the people in the room.

I expected Hydra would be the first person I would notice but I scan all the faces near the front and she isn't there. I guess they didn't want her influencing the witnesses (I say witnesses but I am pretty sure I am the only one). It makes me nervous, though, because if I can't see her then there is no way of knowing that she is alright. They could be torturing her right now.

Some shuffling on one of the balconies draws my attention and I look up just in time to see my current best friend, President Snow, looming at the back of a group of people like someone's awkward father arriving late for a class assembly.

"Finnick Odair," an official stands on the floor in front of me, holding a bunch of papers. "You must take an oath before you proceed."

"All right," I say but it isn't as if my words mean anything. I didn't write the statement myself, I don't agree with what it says and it didn't happen that way at all. My mother used to tell me not to lie because it isn't a very gentlemanly thing to do but right now I would rather be a survivor than a gentleman.

"Did you write this statement?" he gestures towards the piece of paper.

No. "Yes."

"And do you swear that all evidence contained in your statement is the truth, just as it happened, not distorted by bias or cropped by design?"

"I do swear." All the time. _Shit. _Why do I always end up in these situations?

"And anything you say from now on, in questioning or otherwise, do you swear it shall also be the truth?"

"Yes." The truth as Snow wants it to be.

"Then please, proceed by reading your statement."

I take up my statement and read it out loud. It is the same information that I shared in the official interview. As I read I keep my eyes on the paper. I don't really want to look up at the cameras or the faces watching me. My voice booms over the microphone but the constant wittering of the Games continues underneath making me lose track of the meaning behind my words but I keep going because I just want to get it over with. The muttering intensifies and I have to fight the urge to check the screens in case something important is happening but I force myself not to. I don't look up until I read the last sentence.

On the screens the boy from District 2 rips apart mutt after mutt, pulling their bodies apart with his hands and teeth. It doesn't matter how many hone in on him, somehow he finds a way to fend them off on all sides while he makes each kill. I don't think I have seen anything like it. Most of the interest in the room is fixed on that rather than on me. In a battle between channels a teenager killing human mutts definitely trumps a teenager reading from a bit of paper (even if he does look good doing it). I glance up at the judge- a woman with a pinched face- she too is watching the is an awkward silence before the official turns away from the screen.

One thing is obvious; it is not just me and the President who know that this whole court is sham. It seems everyone is in on the act. No one is very concerned. There is no justice in the Capitol, there are no odds or luck or any chance of anything happening that doesn't fit the regime. All roads lead to Snow's will. Sometimes they have to pretend otherwise, though. Sometimes they have to make people think that they have some control over their own lives.

"You may step down now," the official tells me.

"You don't want me to answer any questions?"

"No, thank you."

And that's it. I have been in the room for less than fifteen minutes and half that time was me walking from the doors at the back to the stands at the front. At least I can get back to my job. Annie should be setting up her traps today. Before I left the group had been gathering all the pieces of rope they possessed, trying to figure out how many sites they could set up.

I look up at the balcony but Snow has already gone, I suppose he just wanted confirmation that I am playing my part. Maybe I should be flattered that he didn't just send one of his minions but I get the impression that Snow likes having his little projects to amuse himself with and right now I am that project.

I slip out the courtroom with little notice. A few people take pictures but mostly it is as if I'm not even there which can only be a good thing. I head out of the courthouse, rushing off down the pavement.

"Finnick! Hey Finnick!"

I turn to see Fabricius Paxt. I am seeing far too much of this guy lately.

"I'll give you a lift," he says.

"That's ok."

"Come on."

Without waiting for any more objections Fabricius steers me towards the car and I have no choice to oblige. The Control Room is located in a building only a ten minute walk from the courthouse, going by car will probably slow down the process due to traffic, clearly the only reason to give me a lift is to discuss something. I abandon this idea, however, when the car heads off in the opposite direction.

"Where are we going?"

"Today is your lucky day," he tells me, "You are going to spend the afternoon with a very beautiful young lady."

I don't like it when people in the Capitol describe people as beautiful- it could mean just about anything. I begin to imagine orange skin, tattoos, purple hair… she is probably going to be the biggest freak I have ever seen.

"Fabricius…"

"Trust me. You'll enjoy this and you only have to make it look good. You're going to spend the afternoon in the park." The car pulls up in a taxi spot.

"Then I can go back to the Control Room?"

"Then you can go back to the Control Room," he confirms. "Meet her by the fountain."

I pull the door handle, checking my watch. It has just turned two. "You'll pick me up at three," I tell him.

"Six"

"Four- and I get you what you want."

"Five Thirty"

"Four. Final offer."

"All right. But let me know if you change your mind."

"That's not going to happen."

He gives me a strange smile just before I slam the door. It annoys me because I know I am not going to change my mind. I am in love with Annie and no Capitol hussy is going to change that no matter how beautiful she is.

The fountain is right in front of me, there are a few people milling about but I can't tell which I am waiting for. It is only when I get closer and I see the white rose that I know.

She is not what I expected. She is about my age, maybe slightly older. Her hair is a rich golden blonde that she lets fall messily around her face. Her skin isn't dyed, she has no tattoos, and her make-up is minimal. Even her clothes are plain. Maybe she isn't from the Capitol at all? She looks sort of normal… in fact, I hate to say it, she looks better than normal, she looks… nice. I inwardly smack myself because I shouldn't be thinking these things when Annie is stuck in the arena fighting for her life.

"I'm Alba."

I just nod.

"You hungry?" she asks. "I brought a picnic."

"Sounds great."

We sit down on the grass and she unpacks a basket while some photographers try to discreetly take pictures. I do my bit- I make sure I sit close to her, tucking my shoulder slightly behind hers so it could look as though she is leaning against me.

"So what brought you here today?" I ask as she hands me a plate of sausage rolls.

"I was curious," she says.

"Oh?" I raise an eyebrow. For some reason it is difficult for me to get into character around her. I hope it looks convincing enough, though. I don't want Fabricius on my back.

"Well you hear the rumours, you see the broadcasts… I wanted to know if you really are that much of a dick"

"And… the conclusion?"

She shrugs, "We'll see."

"So, you know what I do, how about you?"

She smiles. "I'm a writer. I've read some of your poetry…" the way she says it makes me think that she really read it, like maybe she understood what I actually meant when I wrote it, rather than some hackneyed commentary that most people believe. "You're lucky people here aren't really big on literature."

"What do you write?"

"Novels mostly- they pass the time best. I think I write them more for me than anyone else. No one really reads them. It's easy to get out of step with everything going on around here." She pours red wine into two long stemmed glasses and hands one to me.

Has she paid the president to go on a date with me? Or is this some kind of favour to Fabricius? Does she even know what this is? She is difficult to figure out. She must be aware of the cameras but I am not aware of any kind of show. Everything feels very natural. She doesn't try to touch me; she doesn't say inappropriate things in my ear, when we speak her eyes meet mine like she is actually interested in what I have to say. What is going on?

It is a glowing afternoon and we bask in it as we sip our wine and chat about our lives, sharing misadventures, asking each other questions. I begin to see more of her Capitol side- like when she mentions her servants and studying at university because she wasn't sure what else to do with her life. She must have been spoilt her whole life but she wears that better than most. She is really interested in how things are different in District 4 so I tell her, quite truthfully, but I try to stick to the facts rather than my opinions- just in case someone is listening.

I am trying to describe how to fish with a trident when a dark shadow looms over us. I can't see who it is because their face is darkened in a silhouette. "I think I'll join you." I freeze. I recognise that voice. What is he doing here? What can he gain by joining us here?

As he sits the familiar sent of blood and roses hijacks my senses and I try hard not to gag. Alba pours another glass of wine and hands it over him. How can she be so relaxed? I can hear the busy clicking of the cameras all around us.

"So, you have met my Granddaughter," the president grins.


	67. Chapter 67

Johanna throws down the newspaper onto the desk in front of me, almost knocking over my coffee. "You're keeping some strange company these days," she mutters. "Could you screw her without seeing his thick lips smiling up at you?"

"Good morning to you too, Johanna."

She pushes the back of my chair, jolting me. I guess this isn't helping her not be mad at me. Splashed all over the front page of the newspaper is a picture of me and Alba sat together, my arm tightly wrapped around her waist, our faces jubilant in shared appreciation of some joke. Underneath is some attempt at an actual news story.

'Dashing womaniser Finnick Odair, 19, is seen for the first time in a year with a new love interest. Alba Snow, 20, (pictured with Odair), granddaughter of the President, comes from a notoriously private branch of the family. As the eldest child of Gaius Snow, Alba has not been pictured in public since the birth of her youngest sister ten years ago when all five granddaughters appeared in matching lace dresses. Has Odair's charms finally wooed her out of hiding? We hope so, the camera loves her effortless beauty.'

'Furthermore this intriguing new development seems to come with the President's blessing as he joined the happy pair later on in their picnic. This can only further cement the on-going friendship that we have witnessed between the President and the young victor. The president must be thrilled for his granddaughter to have made such a catch. We only hope Alba manages to tame wild Odair for a while as this cute couple make a perfect pair. Odair reportedly said that he wanted to settle down this year- could Alba be the one?'

The rest of the article mostly speculates where Alba buys her clothes and takes a small picnic completely out of proportion. Thank goodness the media doesn't reach the tributes in the arena. I would not like to see what would happen if either Annie or Eoghan read the article. Maybe Eoghan would understand but I can already see the hurt in Annie's eyes.

It shouldn't be like this. I belong to her now. Even though I don't have to spend the night with Alba it still doesn't feel right. I'm jealous of people who can walk down the road together holding hands, maybe steal the odd kiss; I know that me and Annie can never really have that. It has to be kept secret as though it is the darkest of wrongdoings. Except, by most people's standars, this is probably the most normal relationship I have ever had.

As an afterthought I flick through the rest of the paper, searching for news on Hydra's trial but there is nothing. If the jury has come to a verdict it is not a verdict that they are sharing with the public. There isn't even a mention that the trials are taking place. I don't know what I expected. These Capitol rags never say anything worthwhile.

I throw the newspaper back at Johanna. "You'd better keep this considering you are so interested."

"Why would I be interested in that? I've got better things to do," she says, swatting me with it.

"Shame nobody cares about it." After all, she's not the one with a front page spread.

She glowers at me and begins to tear the newspaper to shreds, throwing the pieces over my head like confetti. A small pile gathers in my lap and I haphazardly brush them away.

"Shouldn't you be watching your tributes?" She nods towards the main screen where Annie's face is magnified one hundred times over, warped into an expression of horror.

The career pack stand at the base of a tree where the girl from District 12 is caught hanging upside down by her ankle. Furia pushes her, making her swing back and forth, the boughs of the tree creak under the weight. The girl whimpers as the arc of the swing intensifies, propelling her high into the air, level with the lower branches.

"Good one District 4, I was beginning to get bored waiting for a real kill."

The rope around the girl's ankle must be painful, with each swing she tightens her face a little more, trying to stop herself from calling out. Eoghan leaps into her path, holding out his arms to stop her from swinging, waiting firmly until the rope stands still again.

"So who's going to do the honours?" He says grimly, his fingers automatically drifting to the hilt of his sword. One short week in the arena and already he has accepted the natural order. For the most part people adapt quickly.

"I will," Furia replies immediately, holding up her mace. "She'll be my piñata." I can see it now- it will be a long, slow death as Furia breaks all the bones in her body one by one, until she finally bludgeons the girl's skull. The Capitol will love it. Piñatas will probably become all the rage at parties.

"No," Clarity says, stopping her just before Furia has a chance to attack. "Annie should do it, it was her trap." She says it as though she is bestowing a great honour upon her- who wouldn't want to add another name to their kill list? To add another trophy to the cabinet. I can't help but shiver as the thought passes my mind.

"She doesn't even have a weapon," Glint says.

"Here," clarity forces her dagger into Annie's hand. The funny thing is that it doesn't sound like she is trying to cruel- it actually seems as if she is trying to be helpful, in her own way. She presses her hands tightly around Annie's, willing her to take up the dagger.

Annie has no choice accept it. She stands awkwardly in front of the girl from twelve. She glances across at Eoghan, as if asking him what she should do. There is panic in her eyes, you can see her brain frantically searching for an answer- searching for a way to get out, but no matter where she turns her mind always comes back without a solution.

Eoghan should step in. If he just kills the girl quickly there would be nothing anyone else could do about it and it would save Annie. She is not a killer. She can't do it. Part of me feels bad to think it- but even I have begun to think in their terms. The Games does that to me. The old instincts take hold. If I was there now and I didn't love her I know I would think her weak. I too would be sickened by her inability to kill. Acknowledging this makes me hate myself. She is not weak. Strength is needed to stand up to them, to keep her values despite everything. Yet, the more I try and think this, the more it begins to feel as though I am just making excuses.

"Do it quickly, it only makes it worse drawing it out like this," Glint says quietly.

Annie squares herself up to the suspended girl, trying to get into the stance we showed her in training. Every movement is very precise, as if she is afraid that she will get it wrong. I have never seen anyone prepare to kill someone like this before but I suppose we all have our methods. Eoghan nods at her in encouragement but offers no further assistance. Her eyes glance over the girl, who is now openly crying, and finally fix upon her chest- a reasonable enough target. I can't believe she is going through with this, she always said she wouldn't kill anyone. She draws back her arm ready to strike.

I take in a deep breath. Whatever happens now, this moment will be pivotal. She will either succeed and never be the same person again or she will fail and they won't let her be. Watching her I feel as though I am back in the arena myself. The same old feelings rise up in my chest and I feel like a child again- faced with the fallout from my own first kill. Jeannie. I still can't quite make my peace with it. I suppose half the trouble is, if I'm honest, I'm still not sorry I did it. Somehow the old connections still haven't quite found their way back to remorse. I guess the monster buried that too deeply.

"I can't do it," she crumples back, her shoulders stooping over as she clutches the dagger defensively to her chest.

"Oh you'll do it," Furia says, "You'll do it or I'll bash your skull in," she raises her mace again.

"You can't do that," Eoghan says, rushing forward to stand between Furia and Annie, ever the knight in shining armour.

"She needs to man up sometime. It's kill or be killed in this arena and I'm fed up of carrying dead weight." She turns back to Annie, pushing Eoghan aside "Go on then."

The girl looks at Annie with pleading eyes, begging her to get it over with. The wait must be agony- a moment living in fear of death can seem to last a lifetime.

"You don't have to do this, Annie," Eoghan says, lifting his sword so he can step in and kill the girl in Annie's place but Furia pushes him back again, refusing to let him get close enough to the girl to actually kill her.

"I wouldn't do that District 4. Not unless you want to get your little sister killed." She leans right in to Annie's face, "Come on, what are you waiting for? What is more important to you- your life of the life of this girl? She'll die even if you don't kill her."

She continues to whisper in Annie's ear, goading her, taunting her, trying to tell her that she has no choice. That she has to kill. Clarity closes in on the other side giving her nowhere to turn. She is like a fish caught in the bottom of the boat- her whole body flips and jerks as she tries to find a way out but just like that fish, just like me, she is drowning.

Tears roll down her cheeks but she tries to compose herself, clenching and unclenching her fists as though she is trying to push all her emotions back inside herself where they will no longer be seen. In the arena emotions soon become shameful. Why feel sad when you are a step closer to winning the Game?

Her eventual strike comes as more of a stab in the dark. She throws her whole body towards the girl, driving the dagger wildly and haphazardly into her flesh. She pulls her hands away; they visibly shake as she holds them up to her throat.

The girl squirms on the end of her line, as if trying to slip free of the dagger. The blade sits between her ribs, too low to have pierced her heart. She chokes as blood froths up from her lungs, dripping down onto the grass below.

Annie clutches her face with her hands but doesn't cry out, she brushes Eoghan away as he tries to comfort her then reaches back towards the dagger. Her eyes meet with the girl's and she twists the dagger in the girl's chest, like a key unlocking a door. The girl's body spasms then falls still.

Annie still holds onto the dagger, blood running down her wrists. For a long time she doesn't move then she pulls the dagger free, rubbing the bloodied blade against her trousers.

"I did it," she says quietly. There is a strange hint of triumph in her voice. "I did it," she repeats, "But I don't know what it means."

"It means we should probably get out of here," Glint says, looking warily over his shoulder.

I watch Annie as the group heads off. Eoghan walks close by her side, as if worried to leave her alone.

"Are you alright?" he whispers. "I know what it's like. I just-"

Annie covers her ears with her hands. "You're always talking but you don't say anything!" she pushes past him and asserts herself at the front of the group, still clutching tightly onto the dagger, as if afraid to let go.


	68. Chapter 68

Quintus, the boy from District 2, has generated a lot of interest. It is unusual for a career to choose to be separate from the pack so early on. It almost seems as though he has been avoiding them. Whenever the career pack gets too close he finds a place to hide and doesn't reappear until they are gone. He has weapons- a small armoury which he keeps hidden in a cave but mostly he goes out without them. He prefers to use his fists, his teeth or stray branches and stones that litter the floor of the arena. He goes out every day and you get the impression he is looking for something- or someone. Maybe he is just looking for a fight but I can't help but feel it is something more.

When I know that Annie and Eoghan are safe I find him on the screens just to see what he is doing. The more I watch him the more I hope that someone kills him off.

He crawls through a clump of long grass like a snake; his eyes narrow as he sees the mutt in the distance. I search the screens until I get a better view of which victor he is going to face. Eventually I see him- shaven head, a muscular body- the kind that can only be achieved from excessive training and a fixed, stern expression. Many years might have gone by but I think I would recognise Brutus anywhere. So this is it; tribute meets mutt mentor.

When he reaches the edge of the long grass Quintus gets to his feet and softly treads towards Brutus who still has his back to him.

"I knew I'd find you eventually," Quintus says.

Brutus slowly turns, a grin spreading across his face but it is by no means friendly. "You waste your time seeking me out. There are tributes to kill," he says gruffly.

Quintus shakes his head, "It was always about finding you."

Brutus adjusts his spear in his hand, tightening his grip. Quintus cracks his knuckles and Brutus begins to laugh.

"You'll need a weapon," he says.

"Not for you," Quintus replies, his voice deep and low. He sounds much older than his years. "Not after everything you've done." His face tightens as he tries to keep a hold of himself.

"You can't win."

"I have a plan."

Quintus charges at Brutus, his head bent low and his arms stretched in front of him. He rams his whole body into Brutus' stomach. He is much smaller than Brutus but the suddenness of the attack seems to take the mutt by surprise. As he falls the spear drops from his hand, tumbling to the ground. Quintus pins his arms close to his chest with his knees, stopping Brutus from reaching for his weapon. Then begins to beat Brutus's face with his fists.

Black, oozing blood begins to run from cuts on Brutus' face as he tries to push Quintus away. His feet skid on the sandy ground and every time he almost flips Quintus off him the boy manages to tilt the pair of them the other way so they regain their balance and he stays on top.

"You know I'm not real, don't you? You know that if you get out of here nothing will change?"

Quintus shakes his head, "Everything will change. I'll get my family out of your stinking house and I'll never have to see you or talk to you again because I'll be able to look after them myself."

The mutt Brutus begins to laugh, even as Quintus strikes him. "Your mother will return to me. It is only you who dislikes my company."

This statement only fuels Quintus' anger. He smashes Brutus' head against the ground, screaming things that are so frenzied I cannot make them out. He keeps going until the black ooze forms a pool around Brutus' body and his face is so swollen from bruises and so badly split that it is hardly recognisable.

I glance towards the District 2 station only to find that Brutus' chair is empty, still swinging slightly from where he just left it. I guess it would be hard to see yourself being murdered.

This just proves what I always suspected. There are so many stories tied up in each Games. It is not just a tale of who can kill who and survive until the very end. Everyone here has another dimension they can add to the experience. It is not just me and Eoghan and Annie, although, of course, to me that will always matter the most.

I glance across the screens. The boy from District 3 somehow has convinced more mutts to follow him. There are about twelve of them and by my guess he has targeted the victors who are known for their brains rather than there brawn. I almost disappointed that my mutt alter ego has not been approached. With a group that size surely they would be more than a match for the careers. There too is another story.

I think, if I knew all the stories, I would have a hard time justifying why me and my friends are a more worthy cause of support. I suppose that is why, in general, mentors don't tend to get too involved in the other tributes. You can't support the death of someone when you want to know how their story ends- if they get the girl, if they save the day, if they find their happily ever after.

The careers have spent a few hours trying to get some sleep while each of them takes turns staying on watch. Clarity shakes Annie awake and blearily tells her that it is her turn. Annie nods and props herself up against a rock. She seems more herself than she did before. I suppose the shock of her first kill has died down and she is beginning to harden to it. At least I hope so.

She is as difficult to read as ever. She sits with her knees drawn up to her chest, the dagger sat unassumingly by her side. I take in her expression, the tension in her shoulders, and the slight droop of her eyelids. She seems fine- under pressure certainly but I wouldn't expect anything less. If the kill is still affecting her I can see little evidence of it.

While she waits she idly draws shapes in the sand. Some I recognise; sea shells, a flickering candle, a sleeping face but others just appear as a series of jagged lines that I can make no sense of. She scratches at the patch on her arm that has become reddened by the sun and fans herself with her hand. It wouldn't be too difficult for someone to just sneak up on her now.

I glance up at the map and quickly distinguish the group as the only cluster of five red lights. They are sat near the centre not far from the cornucopia. Close by is another group this one with three members. They seem to be heading towards the cornucopia but in order to get there they will have to pass right by the careers. Judging by the speed they are moving at it will not take them very long to cross paths.

I am pleased when Annie gets to her feet, at least that way she has more chance of seeing them. I glance at Eoghan. He is sound asleep. He took the first watch and has been completely dead to the world ever since. I suppose when you get that tired never ending daylight seizes to matter.

"Mags," I nudge her, nodding my head towards the map. Her eyes scan the map then looks across at the screens.

"The boy from 7, the girl from 11, the girl from 10. They should be fine. In any case, there is not a lot we can do about it."

"Couldn't we wake them up? Send a parachute or something?"

I follow Mags' gaze across to the funds displayed in the corner of the screen. There isn't enough. With only twelve tributes left things are starting to become more expensive. To send the most banal of items to wake them up would completely bankrupt us. I guess that is the downside of trying to make your tributes invisible.

Annie circles the group, tracing her own footprints round and round. I glance back at the map; the others are almost upon them. A few more minutes and the two groups will meet.

I grip the seat of my chair. I watch them twenty-four hours a day (unless called for duties elsewhere) and at some point every day I have to prepare myself for the worst, come to terms with the fact that I might lose them. It is the impossible question of their survival which is too agonising to bear. I would rather know one way or the other because this is like losing them a thousand times over. There is no chance to come to terms with it, no chance to move on just continuous uncertainty and agonising worry.

_This could be it. I might never see them again. _

I watch the red dots getting closer and closer. There are only three of them, they won't win against the careers but it doesn't mean there won't be casualties…

"If you would rather not look you could go ad fetch us some drinks," Mags says kindly.

I am just about to reply when the whole control room is filled with a deep rumbling that makes the speakers squeal.

"What the-"

Every screen is moving as though someone is running with the camera. It takes me a moment to realise that it is not the cameras that are moving but the arena itself.

All the careers are on their feet now, clutching onto rocks and trees, anything they can use to steady themselves. In places the ground rises up as though a giant is growing upwards out the sand. In other places the ground seems to disappear, swallowed up into gaping holes as invisible fingers tear the fibres of sand and grass apart.

The group begins to scatter, shouting at each other to run in different directions. They clutch at bags and weapons, pulling them away just before they are devoured by the sands. The other group are upon them now too, propelled forward by the earthquake. They leap the gap that is growing increasingly wider and charge forward, skirting around the frantic careers who blindly swing their weapons towards them.

Annie stands on top of the rocks, her body jerking first one way and then the other as if she is struggling to determine where she should go. Everyone else is scattering in all directions, searching for a place where the ground isn't being torn apart like used puzzle pieces.

Eoghan, still half asleep, rushed away from camp without his bag or sword and is now desperately retracing his steps to try and recover them. He keeps relatively close to the ground where his balance is better, dodging to the side as another mound is pushed upwards in front of him. He jumps over a gap, his trainers skidding on the grains of sand that pour endlessly down the chasm.

He goes to take a step but the ground disappears beneath him and he slips down, just managing to grab hold of the side before he is swallowed up completely.

The careers are running away but Annie holds back, "Eoghan!" she screams.

"You go on without me," he shouts back, "I'll join you and the others again soon."

She is reluctant but when the ground starts to swell beneath her she doesn't have much choice but to move onwards.

Eoghan struggles to get a purchase on the side of the chasm but his feet slip and slide. He then tries to pull himself up but without the support of his legs he doesn't get beyond leaning both his arms on the solid ground above.

The ground continues to morph into unfamiliar shapes and soon it is only Eoghan and the boy from 7 that are left.

"Do you need a hand?" the boy yells across to Eoghan.

"Actually I'm fine," Eoghan says, his voice hitting a strangely high pitch.

"Guess I'll just leave you to it," the boy replies, as he jumps ungainly towards him. When he reaches the small island from which Eoghan is hanging he kneels down and offers his hand.

"You do realise this is the Hunger Games, don't you? You're meant to kill me, right?" Eoghan says as the boy from District 7 pulls him upwards by his arms as his legs still slip and slide on the sides of the fissure.

When he is finally on relatively solid ground again he lunges for his bag and sword and sweeps them up just before the pair of them are forced to leap across the neighbouring crevices as the earth continues to shift, widening the space all around where Eoghan had slipped.

One of the rocks tumbles down the slope, wedging in the crack between two pieces of land. They use it as a stepping stone and when they reach the other side the ground finally stands still again as the Gamemakers realise that all tributes have outrun the designated area or they have grown bored with the spectacle. Eoghan and the boy from 7 collapse down onto the scarred grass, fighting to catch their breath.

I glance at Annie who is still rushing away from hypocentre with the rest of the careers. Both of them have survived this test. A small victory that means I will once again have to face their mortality tomorrow.

I finally let myself breathe again. There is only so long that I can fight off the inevitable, though. At some point it is going to happen.

I look up at the strip lighting overhead and say a silent prayer. I don't know if I am directing it at the Gamemakers whose room sits directly above ours or to some long forgotten being who somehow has control over these things. I ask for someone to intervene in it all. To put an end to it. Maybe a hovercraft can appear and transport all the tributes out the arena. Maybe somehow Snow will let them live. And maybe we can all just go home and maybe some of their stories can actually get a satisfying ending. Eoghan can set off into the sunset and finally bring his father home and Annie can crawl into my arms and all of us will live alongside each other in the victor's village looking out over the ever-changing sea.

Maybe.

Except I am not naïve enough to believe anyone is listening.


	69. Chapter 69

Even the slightest clattering of the dishes sounds unwelcome in the stiff atmosphere. A team of avox waiters bring in the next course- seared squid on a bed of salad leaves. I sit back in my chair allowing the man to lean over me and place it on the table. The group disappear almost as quickly as they came leaving the three of us to continue with our awkward discourse.

"So, Mr Odair, are you a fan of literature?" Snow asks, mildly amused by his own question as he already knows the answer. There is no literature in the districts.

"Oh, you know, just flicking through the usual fishing guides," I say. "What else do you need really?"

Alba must pick up on both our tones because she looks between us, waiting for us to explain further but we don't. Of course Alba doesn't know about the districts but I'm not about to be the one who tells her that her grandfather is evil (or at the very least misguided) dictator. Instead I have to let Snow paint me as some kind of misguided dolt who can't even read a book. It is different from when we were alone, we could talk a little more freely then. Of course, back then I didn't really know who she was.

I slowly cut up my squid but don't raise my fork to my lips. I'm not really hungry but maybe if I push my food around my plate no one will notice and the waiters will take it away when everyone else is done.

I glance across at Alba. Out of the three of us she looks the most comfortable but she is curious by the continual subtext of the conversation. Does she know what is going on? Does she know that she is also a pawn in her grandfather's game? It is cruel to lead her on but now the game has begun I have little choice but to let it play out- whatever that means. She is just so normal, so natural; I don't see how she can be in on the plot.

The scraping of knives on plates is interrupted by an avox who rushes into the room and hands the president a message. His eyes quickly scan the paper then he looks up at Alba. "Your father is on the phone."

"Oh." Alba hurriedly gets to her feet, throwing her napkin down onto the table.

"You can take it in the drawing room."

She smiles to us as she leaves- a slightly teasing smile that suggests to me that she knows exactly how awkward my time with her grandfather is going to be. The doors softly close and we are alone.

"What does Alba know about this… arrangement?"

"Nothing. I just asked her if she would entertain you the other day before I arrived as I was running late. She seems quite taken with you."

Something foul curls in the back of my throat. "Why are you doing this to her?" He must know that this can't last. He must know that if this continues I will have to break her heart.

"My son- her father and I had a disagreement about ten years ago. I will spare you the details but it ended up with Gaius completely withdrawing his whole family from the public eye, cutting off all contact with me and disappearing to some distant location."

"So this is… what exactly? Revenge?"

"There is no need to be so coarse, Mr Odair. It was just good timing. My granddaughter walked back into my life at the same time as I needed you to become publicly accepted into my fold. We have to keep it believable."

"But when is this going to end?"

"We'll see. It depends on how long you are still of use to me."

I can't believe he would do this to Alba. No matter what happened between him and his son it shouldn't be taken out on her. I suppose Snow is so caught up in his political games that even his family life has become absorbed into it. No wonder his son retreated with his family. I couldn't imagine being constantly played by the people who are supposed to love me the most.

My chest tightens as I think of my parents.

"Your family are meant to be more than just chess pieces in your game, to be disposed of at will," I tell him. It is strange but our proximity over the last few weeks has emboldened me. There are very few things that I hold back now. There seems little point when most of the time I feel as if he can read my thoughts anyway.

His eyes narrow. "Missing mummy and daddy, are we?"

I push my plate away from me. I want to get up and walk out but I probably shouldn't. I try and push the anger and the sadness back inside my chest- it fills up every space there is and keeps pushing- pressing on my ribs so hard they might explode. It is still as raw as it has ever been.

"I have to know," I say. "Why did you do it?" The fire had been so sudden, so completely out the blue. I have gone over it a hundred times but I still don't understand what I did wrong. What I did that would make him murder my parents.

"Why did _I_ do it?" Snow shifts in his chair, somewhat amused.

"Yes."

"Think, Mr Odair, what exactly did I have to gain by it?"

Nothing. He didn't gain at all; in fact he lost me because, for a while, he had no power over me. "Do you just enjoy causing people pain?"

He laughs coldly, "You may question my actions but I do not act without reason."

"Then…?"

"It seems some clarification is needed." He pushes himself up on the table and gets to his feet. "Follow me."

"What about Alba…?"

"She won't be coming back."

"But…?"

"Just follow me, please."

He leads me to the grand stairwell that sits in the centre of the property but instead of going up them Snow takes me beyond and down a small twisting set of back steps that I had never noticed before. At the bottom of the stairs it is as if we have emerged into a different place. The hallways are narrow and dark, without any windows. I get the impression that we are underground in a sort of basement. He leads me past a network of rooms until the hallways begin to widen again into a large, elaborate foyer.

We step past two guards who salute the president as he passes. There are another two stood at the far end of the room, either side of a heavy looking door.

"What is this place?"

"This is where I keep prisoners that I wish to personally keep an eye on."

And suddenly I know exactly who is behind the door. I just don't see how this can help me. What has this got to do with my parents?

"Let Mr Odair through," the president instructs the guards.

One of them fiddles with the complicated locks then pulls back the door, ushering me inside. Reluctantly I do so, although part of me is scared that this is some kind of trick and that the door will slam shut behind me and I will be the one who is imprisoned.

The room is very large and looks like a very fancy bedroom. There is a four-poster bed with long golden drapes looped up with ties. The drapes match the details on the rug that stretches across the floor and tones in with the sofa and the chairs and the cushions. Everything is old fashioned and stately and looks nothing like a prison at all. The only thing that is missing is windows so the whole room is cast in a strange flickering glow from the large fireplace and various lamps.

She is sat at the table looking much smaller than I remember, her shoulders hunched as she leans over her plate which is covered in bite-size portions of the feast we have been having upstairs.

For a moment my voice catches in my throat but I croak out her name. "Hydra?"

Slowly she looks up, "Finnick," she replies, she sounds relieved. "I hoped I would get a chance to see you."

I move over and sit opposite her at the table. "I didn't know they were keeping you here."

She shrugs, "He didn't want any of the Praetorians to be able to get me out. What are you doing here?"

"Oh, you know, I just came round for dinner."

She smiles. "Only you could be caught as a traitor and be treated like a friend," her voice is a little bitter. Does she know what I have been saying about her?

I scan her face and notice a few marks and scabs that run up her neck and along her jaw. I wonder what could have done it. She moves with a certain stiffness that suggests she might be in pain but it is difficult to tell her injuries beneath her long dress.

"Are they treating you ok?"

"Well enough." She says. I get the impression she doesn't really want to talk about it. "I never got to go to my own trial, though. Probably just as well, there isn't much I can say. They have already condemned me."

Nothing at that trial was ever going to change their minds. It was all just a show. We both know that. Again I wonder if she knows what I said. If she knows that I had to betray her. I hope she doesn't.

She looks over her shoulder at the closed door, clearly contemplating something. I wonder if the President is still stood outside, waiting for me, waiting to see what I find out. Maybe they are all listening in to see if we reveal any secrets. Although I don't know what secrets can be left any more.

She takes a sip of her water and her eyes slowly meet mine. "I'm sorry for getting you into this, kid."

_Kid? _I feel as though I am fourteen years old again.

Slowly she continues. "It's a shame it's not going to work out; we really needed someone like you." She leans back in her chair but I grab her arm.

"I'm not done, yet," I whisper. "I'm not going to just give up on this."

She shakes her head. "It was wrong. I shouldn't have done it. I'm as bad as he is."

"What do you mean?" I ask, but part of me is beginning to know. Part of me sees exactly why Snow brought me down here but I want to hear her say it. I want it to be confirmed. "What do you mean?" my voice shakes.

"It's been my undoing, anyway. I told them it was a mistake, that some order had been misunderstood but he knew it wasn't a mistake. It just highlighted that I wasn't on his side. So I was caught and you… well, it was all for nothing, anyway." She grips onto her wrists and I see the red marks where rope or metal must have bound her. "They shouldn't have been killed."

"My parents? The fire… I wouldn't have joined the Praetorians otherwise." And that's why she did it.

"I know. I'm sorry. I… I have been feeling bad about it ever since. You didn't deserve that."

It wasn't Snow.

The two sides are just as bad as each other. The only difference is that I believe in what the Praetorians are fighting for. It seems I really am a free-for-all where manipulation is involved.

I should hate her. I should feel angry and betrayed but it is difficult when I know she will be dead soon. The courts may not have confirmed it but we all know she is to be killed. Hurting her now isn't going to bring them back. Hurting her now won't make me feel any better about it. I have betrayed her too, anyway.

"Finnick…?"

I get to my feet, "I should go." I don't want to stay here anymore. I don't want to release the monster. I let myself feel the pain but I don't give myself up to it. There is nothing I can do to make this better.

I half walk- half run away from her and I bang on the door, signalling to the guards that I want to leave. I can't stand any more time in this room with this woman. We are something like friends, something like enemies, something like that. I don't really know how to talk to her any more. She got what she wanted. I am a praetorian now. I'm not going to stop fighting for freedom but I'm not doing it for her anymore.

"Finnick, please…"

"I can't tell you what you want to hear," I tell her. I'm not going to forgive her. I can't. They were my parents. They were all I had.

The doors open and I step outside, trying to block out the sound of her voice as they lock it away inside her opulent prison.

The president appears. "I imagine you found that most enlightening."

"This doesn't change anything," I tell him through gritted teeth.

"You don't need to worry; you shall have your revenge. The verdict came through today- she shall be executed. It will take place after the Games. Naturally I wish to make an example of her. It's going to be quite the event and you are going to have a front-row seat."

"What do you mean?"

"You'll see, Mr Odair."

A shiver runs down my spine. This cannot be good.


	70. Chapter 70

Another day, another invitation to Snow's mansion. I almost spend more time here than in the Control room. I have no choice but to go, of course, I know better than to disobey. Every time I come here I expect for him to explain what he meant by saying I would get my revenge but he never does. It just continues to linger in the air between us and the Games drag on.

Nine tributes remain.

The boy from District 2 has started stringing mutts and tributes up in a hanging tree on the far side of the arena. The hovercrafts can't retrieve the bodies so they hang there, rotting in the stifling heat, their empty eyes staring him out.

The girl from District 1 has been wounded- stabbed by the boy from 10. She was sent a parachute to treat the wound but it wasn't from Cashmere or Ace. We suspect it was poison that is now slowly destroying her from the inside. She tries to pretend she is fine in front of the other careers but when she's alone she can't hold it back. She writhes and screams, like a person on fire. We all know it is killing her. The sponsors have stopped their gifts.

Eoghan and Annie are yet to find each other again. Eoghan strikes up a sort of friendship with the boy from seven and they somehow muddle through. Annie has fallen silent. Mutely she follows the other careers like a ghost. She feels further away than ever before.

The boy from 3 still grows his army. They hold war councils and build traps but they are yet to kill. They are an army of pacifists. Perhaps they are only his defence and he hopes he will somehow outlast the others.

Still no sign of the mutt Finnick Odair, despite much speculation.

"What is it like for you- watching the Games?" Snow flicks the buttons on the remote and the large screen bursts to life. I read the updates that run along the bottom of the screen. There have been no deaths since I left the Control Room- a few injuries but from what I can tell both Annie and Eoghan are fine.

"It's terrifying and yet familiar," I tell Snow. "It's like revisiting the same nightmare over and over again."

He frowns as if I have just given him the wrong answer. "Don't you become immune to it?"

"I hope not." _Not again. _

The President shuffles through some of the newspapers, magazines, reports and books that cover his coffee table. Eventually he plucks out a broadsheet newspaper and begins to read, his eyes lingering a long time on an article on the right hand side of the page.

"Aren't you going to watch the Games?"

"I never do," he replies idly, "They are just a means to an end, after all."

"But-"

"I thought you would want to see what is happening. In my experience most victors have a strange fascination with the Games. They despise them, yes, but at the same time they can't quite turn their back on them. Some like to relive their glory through the actions of other tributes, some want a reminder of the pain- something that reminds them they are still alive and others are desperately seeking some greater meaning to it all, some reason behind what they went through. It's a vain quest, though, it's nothing personal."

"What about my friends? You can't say that's not personal."

"Regrettably so, but it is necessary- like the Games themselves. Necessary because they keep everyone in their place." He shakes the creases from his newspaper then continues to read, turning his body slightly away from the large screen so it doesn't disturb him.

"Why don't you just kill them?"

"You did tell me to give you something to care about."

"So you're going to help keep them alive?"

"No."

"But-"

"We'll just have to see if the odds are in your favour. Now-" he gestures towards the screen.

Eoghan and the boy from District 7- who is apparently called is Linden- trail across the arena together. Eoghan points to something up ahead, but all I can see is the same dry grass and sand that there is everywhere else.

"We should get there soon," he says, "Then we'll be all right," he staggers slightly, stumbling over his own feet. The blade of his sword drags along the ground behind him, his arm clearly lacking the strength to hold it up. I recognise this instantly as dehydration- the disorientation, the weakness, the incurable dryness that spreads throughout the body. My suspicions are confirmed when he reaches into his pack and pulls out an empty water bottle, tipping it uselessly up against his lips in hope of some residual water.

I stand, "I should get back to the Control Room."

The newspaper slowly lowers. "I would rather you stayed here."

I sit back down.

Eoghan and Linden keep walking. Eoghan begins to pant but all he is taking in is the same dry air. He needs some water. Why hasn't Mags sent him any? Maybe there aren't enough funds. I should go out and convince some more people to sponsor them. Yet Snow has asked me to stay here… What is more important? Doing what Snow wants or saving my friend?

"Are you trying to sabotage my tribute by keeping me here?"

"Your tribute is fine. She is eating a meal with the other careers." A small corner of the screen shows Annie and the other careers- just enough space to show they are all alive but it isn't exactly fascinating to watch.

"But Eoghan-"

"We have a press release this afternoon," he replies coldly.

It is a very definite signal that I have to stay. Or what? What exactly is he going to do?

I stand again but stare at the screen. Eoghan and Linden trudge onwards, muttering to each other about whatever it is they can see ahead.

"If we can just get there," Linden says. "Then everything will be alright."

"We can do it," Eoghan croaks, "We can do it."

The stumble along for a few more metres then they stop dead, staring out into the blankness before them.

"It's gone," Linden whispers.

"Another trick," Eoghan mutters. He is about to throw himself to the ground when a noise catches his attention.

The pair turn to look upwards, as the sounds slowly becomes clearer. It is like the constant fizzing hum of untuned radio. Mingled amongst the static are voices that call to them. The words constantly overlap and argue with each other, sometimes so many speak at once that it is impossible to distinguish what is being said at all.

"Do you hear that?" Eoghan asks.

Linden shakes his head, "It's just _them."_ He means Gamemakers. Good to know someone hasn't completely lost their senses.

Some of the voices ease off, allowing the words to become clearer.

"It's kill or be killed in this arena."

"Don't look at me!"

"I didn't ask you to do it. You could have just let him… I didn't want anyone to die for my sake." The voice is woefully familiar.

Eoghan cocks his head to the side, "Annie? That's Annie."

More voices continue to utter final words and cries and revelations. It's as if each tributes' experience of the arena is being summed up in a single sound bite.

"I need to find her," Eoghan says, his voice is like sandpaper, painful to hear.

His movement is agonising to watch- caught in a frenzy he tries to force his exhausted body to co-operate, still dragging the sword along the ground like a third limb. Linden has no choice but to follow after him, albeit at a slower pace and lacking the urgency of Eoghan.

I need to get to the Control Room. I need to find a way to help him. I want to see the little red dots moving across the map so I can work out exactly how far he has to go to meet her. Yet at the same time I can't pull myself away from the screen. Not even for the few minutes it would take me to get back. I want to see the two of them being re-united. I want to see him succeed before he dies of thirst.

Still the voices continue and every time he hears Annie Eoghan is driven further onwards, granted renewed energy by it. Driven insane by dehydration and sheer exhaustion he pursues her with desperation. Nothing about the sound bite suggests she is in trouble and yet he rushes as though he has to save her from the worst fate imaginable.

He stumbles over rocks and the sand seems to disappear as though someone is pulling out a carpet from beneath him but he champions onwards in a haze.

I can't move. If he keeps going like this he is going to kill himself- all energy will just drain out of him and he will collapse- a victim of the burning sun and dry landscape. Yet he is relentless in his determination, his broken voice calls to her but it only comes out as a pathetic whisper.

The camera switches to the careers who have finished eating. They too are plagued by the endless stream of voices and, just as Eoghan had suddenly pricked up his ears at hearing Annie's voice, Annie suddenly sits up a little straighter on hearing his.

"What is it?" Glint asks but Annie is on her feet, moving away from the group.

Already the small outline of Eoghan can be seen in the distance, bent over his knees as he pushes himself onwards. Annie breaks out into a run, rushing towards him and the Careers; unsure of what is happening, chase after her, pausing to scoop up their weapons. Clarity is left behind, clutching her wound.

When the two groups collide Eoghan finally allows himself to collapse, throwing down his pack and his sword and gripping onto Annie's clothes, moaning in relief. Annie forces him to drink from her flask and he gratefully takes large gulps until it is almost empty.

The others pin Linden to the ground, drawing their weapons. Eoghan pushes the flask aside. "No!" he rasps, "He's one of us."

"Well we don't want him," Furia says, lifting her mace.

Eoghan scrambles to his feet and weakly pushes Furia aside, "You can't kill him," he says. "He saved my life."

He grips tightly onto the handle of the mace, trying to prize it from Furia's grasp. The pair of them sway back and forth, neither of them quite managing to get the upper hand. Eventually Eoghan twists away from her and manages to yank the mace and Furia is forced to let go.

He goes to Linden and offers his hand, "Are you alright?" he says.

Furia rushes towards Annie, my stomach leaps into my throat as I realise that the sword is lying on the ground. Both Annie and Furia reach for it but Furia nudges it closer with her foot and gets there first. My head screams for Annie to run but she stands frozen, unable to move, her mouth hanging open in a look of horror. She has no way to defend herself, if Furia strikes now she is done for.

_Stand up, Eoghan. Turn around. Save her, you have to save her. _

Furia raises the sword above her head and pushes Annie aside with her elbow, throwing her to the ground.

Eoghan and Linden are both stood up now; Eoghan still has his back to Furia. He turns at the last minute, when she is only a couple of paces from him, just as his own sword sings as it is swept elegantly through the air. There isn't time for him to raise the mace in his hand. He is too shocked to duck out of the way. The sword gracefully continues its trajectory severing his neck in one clean blow.

A quiver runs up my leg and for a moment I think I'm going to fall. When his body drops to the ground the camera focuses on Annie. Her hands are over her ears and her mouth stretches open in a silent scream.

Neither of us can move. I feel as though I'm stood there with her. I can feel the heat of the arena on my face and across my back. Sweat pours down my forehead

Furia swings the sword again and Linden falls to floor. Somewhere in the back of my mind I remember it's Eoghan's birthday.

Annie is the first to move. Her leg twitches into life and she lurches forward, moving slowly at first but then gathering speed. She is running from it and part of me knows that's what I should do too. Maybe if we both run far enough it will never have happened.

Running through the mansion is like running through syrup. Only vaguely aware of my surroundings I pass avox slaves and attendants and politicians and stairwells and hundreds of closed doors. I don't know where I am going. Maybe the universe will swallow me up. I should go to the Control Room but I don't even know where that is anymore.

I barrel through the large gates and fly onto the main street joining the endless stream of people who stride along the pavement. My shoulders crash into people. Someone yells my name but I press onwards, searching for something that I will never find. There is nowhere that I can go, nowhere I can hide. No matter where I go I cannot get away.

Soon the streets become narrower, dingier, and dirtier. The walkways become emptier, populated by the occasional street artist that adds music to my flight.

I run until my body refuses to go any further and I throw myself into a large fountain that seems to grow out of the ground at the dead-end of an empty road. I submerge my whole body in the waters, closing my eyes and burying my ears to block out everything else. Yet the image still burns in the back of my mind.

My best friend. Eoghan. In my head I knew this day would have to come but my heart is not ready for it. Maybe these waters will be kind and I will be swept away…

Tears form and I choke and gag on the water. I gulp down mouthfuls. I dunk my head in over and over again. I should have been there for him. I was meant to keep him safe. He was meant to survive. I can't hold back my wails so I bury them in the water where no one will hear.

The same thoughts run through my mind, over and over and over and over. _It's my fault. He wasn't meant to die. I wasn't meant to lose him. _But no matter how many times I think this nothing changes. It cannot bring him back.

My clothes stick to my body and I begin to shiver. I am vaguely aware of the sky turning from blue to orange to black.

Somewhere, sat under a sky that is still burning bright, I know Annie will be feeling the exact same thing. I lie back, resting my head on the lip of the fountain and just stare out at the vast emptiness. I can't go home now. I can't face the funeral- the glowing faces on the beach, the songs, Mr Cresta's grief… I'll just stay here until everything is forgotten, until everything disappears. I close my eyes and let my mind get lost to it.

I awake hours later when the sky is a soft yellow. A hand pulls me from my watery sanctuary. "Come on," a gentle voice says, "Let's get you out of here."


	71. Chapter 71

It is a long time before I fully come to my senses but when I do I find myself in a bedroom. It is large and modern, everything is either a crisp white or a cold steel. I sit in the middle of the bed with the duvet pulled around my shoulders, just staring straight ahead. I don't know how long I have been here. Regaining my senses is like coming back from another world; nothing quite seems real.

I peel back the duvet and find myself dressed in unfamiliar clothes- when did I get changed? I slip off the end of the bed and go to the immense window that covers almost the whole wall of the room in hope that I might figure out my bearings. When I open the blinds I find that it is close to midday and the sun is high in the sky, peeking out from over the top of a group of skyscrapers. I recognise this part of the city immediately. It is near the centre- a fashionable part of town for young professionals. I often frequented the area on my errands for Snow. Perhaps I have been in this very building before, perhaps even this very apartment… I try and push that thought from my mind.

Unsure of what else to do, I go to the door, open it gently and step out into an equally pale and cold hallway. The floor and walls here are made of marble. My bare feet start to go numb as I stand on it. Five doors lead off in various directions, I pause, unsure of where to go.

A phone rings in a room down the hall and someone immediately picks up. A calm, yet decisive voice says "Hello?" I recognise it from somewhere but I'm not sure where. I head towards it, eager to discover the owner of the apartment.

When I enter the room- a study of some sort- I find him sat on the edge of a desk. His large form hunched over a telephone. Fabricius Paxt. Of all the people I expected, it was never him. He gives me a smarmy smile, turning his body slightly away as he talks into the phone.

"I'm sorry; I am going to have to call you back. I have some _business _to attend to." He listens to the phone a moment longer then hangs up without saying goodbye. He moves away from the desk, eyeing my up thoughtfully. "You back to your senses now?"

"How long have I been here for?"

"Four days and you've done nothing but sit in a trance and stare at the wall the whole time. I reckon those drugs they make the mentors take didn't do you any favours; you could have done with a real sleep. "

"Why did you-?"

"You were making quite the scene in that fountain. I didn't want that to get out. I had intended to send you back to the Training Centre but the place was swarming with reporters so I bought you here instead, I hope you don't mind."

It takes a moment for everything to sink in. I still don't feel quite myself. Something isn't right but I don't want to probe too far. I would rather not think about it. I don't want to admit these things to myself and saying them aloud just makes them feel real. Better just to deal with the surface thoughts and keep everything else at arm's length.

"Would you like something to eat?" he asks me.

"Sure," it slips out without me meaning it but I don't have the nerve to take it back.

He walks past me, stepping out into the marble hallway. I mutely follow him through one of the other doors that opens onto a very modern kitchen. I perch on top of one of the high chairs that sits next to the breakfast bar and twiddle my fingers. Something about this place makes me feel uneasy. It is difficult to relax when everything around you is so neat, so ordered, so _together _and you are painfully aware that you are none of those things. I am worried that my state of mind will somehow rub off on the place and a truck full of waste will pour in through the window, tarnishing everything.

"How do you like your eggs?"

"Uh- scrambled." Let something not be ordered to perfection.

Fabricius is quieter in his own home- calmer, less threatening. I watch him as he takes food out of the refrigerator and puts it into pots and pans until they sizzle and hiss. As the smells of cooking waft up my nose I begin to remember standing in my own kitchen at home with someone else. Holding her in my arms…

I shake the thought out of my mind. Four days have passed. She is probably dead by now. I don't want to think about it.

Fabricius reaches across in front of me and grabs a remote from off the counter. "Do you mind…?" he says, flicking a switch so a television appears out of the cupboards.

"Are … are the Games still going on?"

The picture on the screen shows a lady reading the news. She is saying something about the university but I don't really take it in.

"They're still on-going." Fabricius tells me. While he cooks he watches me out of the corner of his eye, something like concern spreads across his face. I don't quite trust it, though. His only concern is whether I will perform in the way he wants me to next time I am in public. Nothing else matters.

He flicks another button and the programme changes. I instantly recognise the arena. More cracks have spread across the ground, as if the whole thing is falling apart. I guess there have been more earthquakes. I wonder how many tributes have been swallowed up. I turn away from the screen. There is nothing to interest me there.

"How many are left?"

"Five," he tells me. "People are starting to get bored. All the alliances have broken down but most tributes are just hiding somewhere on their own. "

I focus all my attention of Fabricius as he swishes the eggs in the bottom of the frying pan. Slowly they begin to turn solid. I jump when the toast springs out of the toaster. Fabricius grabs both slices and throws them down onto a plate, without missing a beat. He smears butter on both slices then he spills the eggs out on top of the toast and pushes the plate towards me. I still don't feel hungry.

"Thank you."

"Can't have you going hungry," he shrugs, glancing back towards the screen to watch the Games.

"No, not for the breakfast. For…"

The smarmy grin returns. "What sane person would pass on having Finnick Odair stay at their place?"

"Do people…" but I lose my thread so I try again. "Do people know I am here?"

He shakes his head. "We told the press that you were in bed with a cold."

I snort, "Makes me seem a little insensitive when tributes are there dying."

"What else was I meant to tell them- that you'd had a nervous breakdown and were practically incapable of moving or speaking?"

"I didn't have a nervous breakdown," I say. I'm not the sort of person that does. I don't like how it makes me sound; weak and pathetic- like someone who can't cope with things. I have had to deal with a lot of things over the years and one thing I am sure of is that I am not weak. This isn't a nervous breakdown. This is… grief.

Something lands heavily on my chest. I gasp in some air but somehow I can't catch my breath. I try harder to breathe but my whole body is closing up, fighting against it. The tips of my fingers begin to tingle, disappearing somehow. I grip my fists tightly but they still don't come back to life. Suddenly I feel as though I am sat too high up. It is as if I might fall from a great height. I slump forward and grip onto the counter.

Fabricius is by my side muttering something but I can't hear him properly. It as if he is talking to me from very far away. My eyes dart wildly around the room, searching for something that can help me but instead they fix on the television screen.

"All right now, all right." Fabricius says rubbing my back in an almost motherly fashion.

But I hardly notice him because by watching that screen I am suddenly face to face with a younger version of myself. Just fourteen years old. Some parts I recognise still as my own- the bronze hair, the green eyes, athletic body but in some ways he couldn't seem more different. I am looking at a child. This is before I knew what was really coming, before the fight really started. He isn't polished and his expressions give everything away. Gripped in his right hand is my trident. He uses it to push the vines and leaves away from the mouth of the cornucopia and he steps inside. I don't understand what he is doing at first but then he lights the torch and I see. _I see._

Caught in the beam is the most perfect face I have ever seen, covered in dried mud, tear tracks traced all the way down her cheeks. I thought I had lost her, yet here she is, somehow still holding on. I forget about breathing and worrying and wondering because, I can see a scene that was never planned to happen. I see myself and Annie being reunited in front of the whole of Panem.

Her face lights up for a second and she rushes towards my younger self. She stretches out her arms as if she is going to embrace him then reconsiders, yanking the torch from his grip. She clutches it to her chest, staring down into the bright light with wonderment. Her pupils shrink to pinpricks.

The mutt version of myself stands on guard, his trident held out ready to strike. Does he even know who she is? Can mutts understand feelings?

"Annie," he mutters.

She doesn't look up; she stays staring at the torch. "What has happened to my brother?" she says accusingly.

"I haven't even seen Eoghan," he says.

"I know you have," she shrieks, finally looking up. "I know you were there. I saw you! You never would let him get the upper hand. What have you done with him?"

The mutt looks like a scared little boy, he backs away. "He's dead," the coldness in his voice sends shivers down my spine. This is me. This is not me. This is me. He knows my friends, my family but he doesn't care for them. They are just facts that sit in his mind.

Annie screams and rushes towards him, "You killed him. You killed him!"

And the worst thing is that I know I did. If I hadn't set those plans to cut off the train tracks then the reaping would not have been early this year and he would have been too old to be reaped. It is my fault he is dead.

She throws herself onto the mutt, clawing at his face as though she is trying to rip his eyes out. The mutt staggers around, struggling to stay upright then he throws her off him.

She hits the ground heavily and the torch rolls across the floor. She clutches at her arm and stares up at him- up at me accusingly.

"I didn't kill him," the mutt says. "They cut off his head. I heard the Careers talking about it."

Annie shakes her head. "No. That's not right… " While cradling her arm in her lap she pulls at her hair with her free hand, struggling to figure it all out. It is like she is trying to pull the truth from her head.

"Annie…"

"You're lying," she hisses. "They have sent you to confuse me like everything else in the arena. You my look like a silver parachute but you are poison. _Poison!_"

He kneels down by her side, still clutching at his trident as if worried that she is going to attack him again.

"He is still out there, somewhere. He has to be," she continues, her head drating from side to side as if she is looking for Eoghan inside the cornucopia.

"Annie…" but he doesn't know what to say, just as I don't.

Both me and Annie watched as Eoghan was killed. Both of us ran endlessly until there was nowhere left for us to go. Both of us have hidden somewhere to avoid facing the reality. Except I have come out of my reverie. A few days ago I would have been as lost as Annie is now. In a few more days she will begin to understand again too and things will get better. She will be fine. I have reached the other side and she will too.

She begins to sob.

"I'm sorry I pushed you," the mutt says. "I didn't mean to hurt you." He tries to put his arm around her but she pulls away.

"Please, leave me alone," she says. "You have done enough."

I can't stand hearing her say these things. It is as if she is speaking directly to me. I reach over and take the remote, pressing the off switch.

"She's still alive," I whisper to Fabricius.

"Yes," he replies.

"I thought she was dead." And some part of her still is. I'll have to wait for it to revive. It will be all right, though. She will be fine. She will get through this.

I push the plate of eggs away, although I haven't touched them. "I'm tired," I say. And, for the first time since the Games, began I really am. "I think I'll go get some sleep."

And when I wake up Annie will fine.


	72. Chapter 72

I drift in and out of the Games. Sometimes I sit next to Mags at the desk but other times I have to wander. Sometimes I just pace back and forth outside the room until I can face going back in again. I'm fine. I can do this. I am not about to lose my mind again. I can do this. Annie is counting on me.

No one mentions Eoghan when they think I can hear but I have heard whispers- voices that feign concern but are more interested in gossip and scandal. Mags tries to keep them at bay. I can't talk about it. My grief is, as yet, too precious for me to share.

The selfish part of me, the cowardly part of me, wants to disappear again- to vanish in a crowd of people, wallow in a drunken haze at some party where I can cleanse myself beneath the bright lights, be bashed about by groups of writhing bodies all thumping in time to the restless beat and lose myself in a cocktail of euphoria.

The mutt version of me is a better companion to Annie than I could ever be whilst I'm stuck here. He gathers food for her and makes sure that she eats it. The pair of them hold a strange fascination for me. I have known for a long time that I am obsessed with the boy I was before the games, the boy I should have become and the knowledge that I will always have to be something less than that I just never thought I woudl actually have to face it in this way.

"Do… no… Do you…. I thought that maybe…" Annie shakes her head, brushing her thoughts momentarily aside but then they cascade from her mouth at full force. It is as if she no longer has a way of screening what comes out; every utterance is a tangled knot of half-formed thoughts, fighting to make sense. Listening to her one thing is clear; thoughts transcend language. Her eyes dart and she focuses on the mutt who is trying to light a fire. "Do you love me?"

He blinks, puzzled by the question. "No." And he turns back towards the dry sticks he is hunched over.

Annie looks to the side, "Is that true?" she asks some invisible entity. Then she stops, waiting patiently for the reply. Her expression gradually changes from curiosity to annoyance and she turns away.

She is no better than she was before. If anything, she is worse. Grief is a maddening thing. I have experienced this many times in many different forms. It turns the mind and makes you wish so much for things to be different that you can almost believe them. Sometimes it is easier to slip into an imaginary space than to live the truth. Eventually, though, you have to come back. Sooner or later you have to face reality. It will be hard for her but you can't stay lost. In the end there are too many reasons to come back.

"Who are you talking to?" The Mutt asks in borrowed tones.

"Why did you tell me that you did?" She asks, completely ignoring his question.

"That I did what?"

"That you loved me?"

"I didn't." The wood finally catches light and he gently blows into the heart of the fire trying to coax the flames upwards.

"Then why are you here?"

"I…" but he doesn't know how to answer that.

"You should have just killed me." She sounds just like herself. The same clear logic and defiance is there, yet moments ago she was talking to a wall. She is there but she is not there.

"Why? I can't win anyway. I'm just a mutt- manufactured for the arena."

"What's going to happen to you after the Games?"

He shakes his head. "I don't know. I don't think it matters."

Of course this conversation will not be aired. The Capitol can't have the masses see that these mutts they have made are more than just rabid animals on the hunt. Somehow the artificial life doesn't seem so artificial when it can articulate so well. If they heard this there would be more than one placard outside. Maybe some kindly old woman would start an adoption service- adopt your own mutt victor- keep them as a pet. They would love that. The only thing they dislike about us victors is that they can't own us completely.

Mags nudges my arm and smiles. "We'll be able to go home soon," she tells me. "For better, or worse, this is going to have to end."

I nod, comforted by the thought. Within the next few days I am going to finally know. The Games have dragged on long enough. They won't tolerate the stalemate much longer. Something has got to happen.

Back on screen Annie shuffles a little closer to the mutt but warily he moves back. "I'm not going to hurt you," she says, her eyes shining in the flickering flames.

"No. But how do you know I won't hurt you. I'm programmed to kill."

She grabs his hand. "You won't. I know you won't."

"I'm not human. I don't have feelings. I-"

It is as though he is the secret part of me- the part that is all about survival. The part that I am always terrified will take hold of me and I'll never be able to recover from. In this way he is not just the best of me but also the worst. The boy. The animal. Encompassed in one being. There are just no shades in between.

The question fills my mind; where does the child killer end and the mutt begin? How far separated are we?

"It doesn't matter," Annie says. "If you turn on me, Eoghan will protect me."

A chill runs down my spine. She turns to look further into the cornucopia where the camera is hidden and she smiles into the emptiness, her eyes not quite focusing on the lens. So that's who Annie was speaking to in the darkness.

"Annie-" but before he can finish his sentence he is interrupted by a low rumble and the floor of the cornucopia begins to push upwards and the ground moves again.

Annie scrambles to her feet and screeches as she rushes out the mouth of the cornucopia into the scorching sunlight of the arena. The mutt scurries after her, shouting for her to come back.

Drawn by some invisible force, Annie charges across the arena, being thrown from side to side in rhythm with the constant sway of the ground. Every time she falls she pushes herself back onto her feet and rushes forward. Her eyes are like pinpricks in the light, blinking wildly. She still screeches, like a bird about to attack. I have never seen her like this before.

"Where are you going?!"

The trees are swaying and snapping in half, crumbling all around them but she keeps on running. I can just about follow her little red dot on the tracking map. She is heading towards the dam. The other red dots are scattering, some run only twenty metres from each other.

My eyes flash across the screens, searching for what things are like at the dam. Finally, I locate what I am looking for. The lake at the foot of the dam is overflowing, its surface swishing in unnatural waves, reaching further and further onto the sandy shores. Parts of the dam's stone structure have begun to crumble away in large chunks, water spills through the gaps, tipping into the lake.

"It's not going to hold," Mags says.

The cracks begin to grow across the surface and the pressure of the water builds up against it. A tribute stands at the base, momentarily mesmerised by what he can see. He doesn't move but watches as the gush of water gets bigger and bigger and more of the dam breaks away.

"Stop! Stop!" I hear the mutt shouting in my ear. I turn back to my screen to see the mutt with his arms around Annie, trying to hold her still.

"I have to get to the lake!" she screams. "I need to be in the water!" she fights against him but he holds her firm, gripping her wrists tightly in his hands.

Mags grabs hold of my shirt and pulls me round again to the main screen where the dam is displayed- just as the whole thing collapses. Water explodes through the hole forming a violent waterfall that spills right at us. The screen is large and the wave feels so close that my stomach lurches as it braces itself for contact. Someone actually shouts. The cannon thumps as the boy is swallowed up the water. The flow seems endless. The dam could have been holding back a whole ocean because it just doesn't stop. The lake begins to spread across the arena, gradually building in momentum in a ferocious wave.

Annie and the mutt hear the rumbling and they stare out into the distance. "What is that?" he asks, momentarily loosening his grip on Annie.

As soon as she is free she begins to run again, heading straight towards the rushing water that speeds across the arena. It engulfs everything- even the earthquake that made it. The mutt chases after her again and together they race headlong into the fray.

They see the wave before it hits, rolling across the arena, higher than the tops of the trees. Annie stops running and the mutt finally catches up with her.

"The dam must have broken," he says. He garbs her arm and tries to pull her away. "Come on, we should try to get to higher ground."

They start to run but they are no match for the speed of the water. "We're going to have to swim!" Annie yells.

Another cannon fires.

"We'll have to brace ourselves," the mutt says.

"Try and get to the surface," Annie says.

The pair of them turn their backs to the wave when it is a few metres from them. Then they take in deep breaths and let it submerge them completely.

As I watch the pair of them get swallowed up by the water my heart thumps in my ears. It is the only thing I can register. I can't breathe; I don't dare draw breath until she surfaces. If I can hold my breath then so can she. This way I know she can survive. She is from District 4. She has to be able to survive this.

My chest begins to burn. I can feel little bits of air escaping through my nose; soon there will be none left. I try to hold onto it but little by little it drains away. Still Annie doesn't emerge. The water keeps raging on. The cannon doesn't fire, though. She can't be gone just yet.

I try to hold on, to find a way to keep going without air but soon I can't wait any longer and I gasp in a huge lungful.

I turn to Mags shaking my head. She's gone. She's drowned. Like my brother. For a moment I see Callan smile, a lost moment from when we are children. Then my ears are full of spluttering, gasping, choking and when I look at the screen both of them are there, managing to stay afloat as they are swept along by the water.

"The worst is over now," the mutt tells her. "All we have to do is keep our heads above water."

"Easier said than done," she replies.

Another cannon.

Only two tributes left now; Annie and the girl from District 2 who is clinging onto the edge of an overhanging piece of rock. The force of the water batters against the rock, pulling away from the walls of the arena. Furia tries moving along the walls but the water makes the stone slippery and she can't get a good purchase on it. She is stuck there.

The new question is whether Annie can keep treading water and swimming longer than it takes for the water to sweep away that piece of rock.

* * *

><p>After the first couple of hours the flow of the water lessens and they are pulled around less by the current. Annie and the mutt begin to float on their backs, relaxing into the still waters.<p>

The piece of rock still clings on and Furia is momentarily secure in her position. Another stalemate has been reached.

* * *

><p>Five hours down the line and the strain of exhaustion and fatigue are beginning to show on Annie's face. Her kicks have become more laboured and often her chin slips below the surface of the water.<p>

"You've just got to outlast the final one," Mutt tells her. "Just a bit longer," he too sounds exhausted.

"Is there nothing we can do for her?" I ask Mags, "Could we send her a float?"

"We haven't the funds. The cost is just too high."

I hate seeing the pain on her face. The sheer physical agony she is going through. After days of not eating properly, after a lack of water she hasn't got a chance of being able to keep going much longer.

"She's stronger than she looks," Mags says.

* * *

><p>By the eighth hour she is calling out to Eoghan, hardly aware of what she is doing. Beneath the shouting, though, is an inner strength. Her body just automatically keeps up its rhythmic treading. This quality is something that I had always associated with Annie but hadn't really appreciated before; determination and sheer stubbornness. She is fighting for survival. She is fighting to win. She can do this. She has to.<p>

Furia has begun to cry from starvation and exhaustion. Her mentors take pity on her and send her a parachute. It lands on the piece of rock above her, just beyond her reach. Furia curses Enobaria and Brutus and slowly pushes her way along the rock, wincing each time her torn and bloodied hands scrape along the rough surface. Yet still the parachute is too far away.

Furia pulls herself up, pressing her elbow onto the top of the rock. She leans forward to reach for the parachute but before her fingers can clasp it the rock begins to slide. The repositioning of her weight on it is too much. It rocks back and forth. She tries to move back to her previous position but it is too late. The whole thing crumbles away and she falls backwards into the water.

I wonder if that is it, if she is going to drown, but she doesn't, she bursts up to the surface, kicking and waving wildly but somehow managing to stay afloat. She tries to grip the walls again but her broken hands can't cling on anymore.

It is a different game now.

* * *

><p>Furia, Annie and the mutt tread water for another hour.<p>

Annie sings to herself.

The Mutt sometimes joins in.

Furia slowly loses momentum.

* * *

><p>Another hour and Furia finally sinks below the surface. I count down the seconds. One minute passes. Still she doesn't surface. Another minute. Nothing.<p>

The cannon fires.

"You've done it," the mutt says, "Annie! You've done it!" he almost screams it.

She trod water for ten hours. She out lasted them all. Despite everything, somehow, she has won.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to announce the victor of the Seventieth Hunger Games, Annie Cresta of District 4!" the voice of Claudius Templesmith booms through the arena and a hovercraft appears overhead.

The usual ladder isn't lowered as the electric current wouldn't work properly with the water. Instead an attendant dressed in white is lowered on a harness and he scoops Annie out, fitting another harness around her small form.

As she is lifted into the air Annie reaches out towards the mutt screaming, "No! No! You can't just leave him!"

"It's alright Annie, it's all right!" the mutt yells, for a brief moment the camera focuses on his face and I swear I can actually see tears in his sea green eyes. In my eyes.

Something cracks through the air from the hovercraft. A gunshot. A neat red hole opens on the mutt's forehead and he slowly sinks below the water, disappearing from sight forever.

"Finnick!"

Annie howls, her hands frantically trying to undo the harness but by now she has reached the hovercraft and they have pinned her arms to her side.

I stare at the screen long after the transmission has given out.

"Finnick?" Mags asks gently.

I don't know if it is exhaustion, relief, happiness or devastation but I fall into her arms, burying my face in her shoulder so the others can't see my tears.


	73. Chapter 73

"I'm sorry, you can't go in there yet," the woman says. She tries to block my path. She doesn't seem to understand that nothing, not her, not Snow, not a hundred mutts or a threat of death could stop me from rushing into that room to see Annie. Finally I am allowed to love her again. I can allow myself to believe that she is mine. We can finally, truly be together, against all the odds, in spite of everything.

I can't even utter an apology as I push by the woman. "Mr Odair-?"

The bed is surrounded by a team of medical personal who are checking monitors and writing notes on charts. I hear one of them use the phrase 'no obvious bodily harm'. She is fine. She won't need patching up and fixing like the other victors.

I rush to the end of the bed. "Annie!" I can hear the patter of the woman's feet behind me but I don't turn around. Instead I am completely engrossed by the small girl who lays stretched out on the bed, tubes running out her arm, completely unconscious. I have done nothing but watch her for weeks and yet it is as if I am seeing her for the first time. "What have you done to her?"

No one answers but the woman grabs my arm and begins to lead me away.

"They are looking after her," she says.

"But there is nothing wrong with her. They said it- no obvious bodily harm. She doesn't need to be here."

"You must wait outside while they finish their assessments."

One look at her face and I know she won't let me by her again. I have fooled her once and that is enough, though she won't push me away that easily. I go to the wall opposite and lean against it, facing the door. Through the small windows at the top I can just about see the swarm of people as they flutter around her in their white uniforms.

"You should wait in the lounge area- it is just along the corridor. That's where mentors usually stay."

"I'd rather stay here."

She lets out a wearied sigh but doesn't try to argue.

At some point Annie is going to wake up and when she does I am going to be the first person that she sees.

* * *

><p>Time passes and I slowly slip down the wall until I am sat on the floor listening to the constant beeping of the machines that are still running on the other side of the door.<p>

The woman swaps places with a short man who munches on a sandwich while he waits.

"You're Finnick Odair, huh?" he says, a piece of lettuce spilling from his mouth.

"Yeah."

"Some woman thought I was you the other day."

"Oh right…?"

"Yeah. Best night I ever had." He slurps on a piece of tomato that begins to slip down his chin. By now there is so much sandwich in his lap that I am sceptical about him having eaten a single bite.

"Glad it worked out for you," I tell him.

It is as if I have entered another dimension. My whole universe is waiting for me in that room and yet this man is talking to me as if this is any other day, as if it is any other moment. It is strange that no one else understands the magnitude of what this day means. She is back. I can see her again. Why does everything else continue as normal?

He continues his banal chatter as his shift drags on. He produces more and more food out of his satchel. He offers me a packet of crisps which I decline.

"Do you mind if I smoke?" he asks, reaching into his pocket.

"This is a… surely you're not allowed to?"

He shrugs, "You're not going to tell anybody, are you?"

I don't reply. I get to my feet so I can look through the window but from what I can tell nothing has changed. She still lies as she did before, perfectly still- unnaturally so- like a china doll children are not allowed to play with. As yet still unreachable.

"You want one?" the man asks but again I decline, slipping back onto the floor.

* * *

><p>I know she is awake because I hear her screams. I push my way back into the room and throw myself between the white suited doctors. I grab hold of her hand.<p>

"Annie… Annie!"

Her head tilts towards me, her screaming stops and her green eyes fix upon mine. There is a brief second of recognition before her eyes slowly droop shut.

"What have you done to her?" I look up to see a doctor positioned with a syringe.

"We haven't finished assessing the situation," the doctor tells me.

"What is there to assess?"

A group of nurses enter the room and surround the bed. One of them unclips the breaks and the whole lot of them begin to whisk her away. I jog along beside them, trying to keep up.

"Where are you taking her?"

"She needs to be prepped?"

"What for?"

But none of them answer me and when they reach the door I am forced to move back out of the way. One of the doctors comes towards me with his clipboard outstretched.

"We have some paperwork that we want you to sign."

"What for?"

"We are planning a few… amendments."

"Amendments?"

I know after the Games most victors are primped and polished and made to look 'perfect' ready for their interview. Some victors have faced dramatic changes as the Capitol forced them to become improved versions of themselves ready for their futures as sex slaves and idols. What are they going to do to Annie? What could they want to change?

"It is customary in such situations for victors to undergo a few procedures in order to enhance-"

"No procedures. I won't agree to it."

"What… none?" he seems confused, unsure of exactly what I mean. In the Capitol everyone wants improvements. If money can buy it then they want it.

"You're not going to change her- not a single hair, not a single scar- nothing. She doesn't need it."

"What you don't seem to understand is… We are obliged to…"

"No." It's monstrous.

I shove the clipboard into his chest and stride towards the door just as one of the nurses returns.

"We are ready to go ahead," she says.

The doctor looks from me to his clipboard. "I don't suppose you would be willing to negotiate?"

"No."

He presses the clipboard to his chest and hesitates a moment. I can tell he is weighing up all the possibilities, trying to work out a way to force me to comply but unlike some of the other mentors I know my rights. Without my consent or the consent of Mr Cresta there is no way that they can go ahead with the procedure without facing further consequence. On the other hand this is what he is expected to do- there will be many questions after this- about why he didn't change her as he was meant to but I am not about to sign Annie's body away to preserve some doctor's career. She made one thing very clear before she went into the arena- she wanted to stay herself- so it is to that I must adhere.

He sighs, his decision made. "There is to be no surgery. Bring her back in here and we will complete our assessments." He turns back to me, "I think it would be best if you waited in the lounge area now, Mr Odair," his displeasure is very evident.

I resume my position in the corridor outside, thankful that the short man with all the food has disappeared.

* * *

><p>A hand rests on my arm and I jolt myself awake. "Is she alright?"<p>

As my eyes focus I see the soft, kind features of Mags. With some difficulty she slowly lowers herself down next to me and presses a warm drink into my hand. I sip from it and the warm, comforting taste of tea revives some of my exhausted body.

"Not awake yet, then?"

"They have her sedated."

"They usually do that."

"They wanted to surgically change her."

"They always do that."

"I told them no."

A smile spreads across Mags' face, "I don't know what they could have changed, anyway. She's perfect."

"I know." But as I think about her, how she was while she sat in the cornucopia with the mutt I begin to doubt it- just slightly. The arena changes everyone. And it is never for the better. "She is… going to be alright, isn't she?" I am almost afraid of Mags replying. I asked the question and yet I would rather let it hang unanswered just a moment longer. I want to be able to believe in the fairy-tale ending, even if it was never going to be.

"She is going to need you."

"But she's alright. It was just the Games- the grief- Eoghan…"

"Finnick-" She is about to tell me something but it is at this moment that the doors to her hospital room open again and a doctor stands in the doorway.

"We are going to allow her to wake up now," he says.

Mags takes the mug from my hands and I am immediately on my feet. "Can I see her?"

"She will be very disorientated." The doctor warns, "In the brief periods of consciousness before she has been hysterical. She might not recognise who you are right away."

"But I can see her?"

"Doctor Costas thinks it might help for her to see a familiar face. But- "

I am about to rush by him into the room but that last 'but' stops me. "But what?"

"But you must not interfere with the work of the doctors."

"All right."

This time I am calmly shown into the room which looks a lot less like a hospital than it did before. I am directed to an armchair that sits next to her bed. Most of the medical personal leave the room so only a few of us are left behind. Two of the doctors exchange nods and something new is injected into Annie's arm.

It only takes a few moments for her eyes to slowly flutter open. A cry escapes her lips but this time it isn't a scream, more like a sudden sigh of surprise.

I watch her in silence a moment, letting her take in her surroundings. She looks from one doctor to the other and her eyes move gradually across the room from the flashing machines to the door and finally around to see me. Her eyes drift onto me for the briefest of moments then quickly dart away. They look back another time, as if checking what she had seen, and then she turns completely away.

"Annie?"

She shakes her head. All the muscles in her neck have tightened as if she is frozen in absolute fear.

"Annie?" I say again, longing for her to turn around, to finally look into my eyes so we can have our reunion, but she doesn't move. I resist the urge to call out to her again but instead lift my hand onto the bed and slowly inch it across the mattress towards her hand. However, before our fingers can touch she moves her hand away with a gasp. It is as though she has just been burnt.

"Doctor?" she says in the smallest of voices, her eyes fixing on Doctor Costas. "I think I'm hallucinating."

I think of how she spoke to Eoghan inside the cornucopia. It must still be going on. "Is it Eoghan?" I ask her. "Is he here?" I look wildly around the room, half hoping that I too might see my best friend materialise but of course I see nothing.

"What makes you think you are hallucinating?"

"Because I can see Finnick Odair."

It takes a moment for these words to sink in and then I still struggle to understand what she is saying. Why would it be unreasonable for me to be at her bedside? Especially after everything that happened between us before she went into the arena.

"Annie- I'm right here. It's me. Annie-" I reach out towards her again but when my hand brushes her shoulder she begins to scream again. I immediately pull my hands away "Annie?"

"I know you're not here! Not really! I know you're not! They killed you! You're not real! You're not real!" she begins to cry, clutching at her ears as I call out to her again. "You're dead, you're dead!"

I want to explain it to her, to tell her that I am alive, that it was only a mutt that she saw killed but already the other doctor is pulling me away.

"No, please, please- let me stay."

"I think it would be better if we got things settled. We will explain to her what happened."

Annie is watching me leave the room, her eyes wide and fearful. Tears stream down her cheeks. Her hands still clutch at her hair and she rocks slightly, still screaming that I am dead, that I am not real, that I am nothing but a hallucination.

"Please-"

I try to go to her. I want so desperately to hold her until she sees the truth. I want to make everything fine again. I want to find a way to fix this- to make her right again but the doctor pulls me back and when the door closes I know it won't be opened to me again.


	74. Chapter 74

Dr Costas clears his throat and his fingers crease the edges of the piece of paper in his hand, showing the nervousness that he is trying to hide beneath a calm exterior

"We have done a full assessment of her condition." He pauses there, as if it is the end of the sentence, as if he wants me to congratulate him or thank him for doing his job. I know there is more to come otherwise we would not be here having this conversation. There is news, be it good or bad, judging by his anxiety I'm guessing the latter. I wish he would just get it over with.

"And what do you think?" Mags asks, perhaps sensing that my reply would not be so measured.

"We are concerned. While she was in the arena we observed some erratic behaviour but, as you know, that is not unusual in tributes. What is unusual, however, is for the after effects to continue as they have." He draws in another deep breath.

"But she's been through a lot," I stammer, hardly able to form the words. "It's not that unusual… it is not unreasonable to suggest that…"

"I'm sorry. It is difficult to know how to progress. A number of doctors have spoken to her and tried out various strategies but she is very disorientated…."

The whole conversation is a series of awkward silences as he tries to edge round what he really means and my mind struggles to fill in the gaps.

"What about the celebrations- the crowning…?"

The doctor shakes his head. "We'll give it another week. She is unpredictable as yet. It would be cruel to put her in front of the cameras as she is." He lingers a moment, shuffling from one foot to the other. "Do you have any questions?"

"When can I see her?"

He shakes his head, "I'm sure you understand our reluctance… we are attempting to stabilise her condition and there are concerns that your presence might cause further confusion."

"So I can't see her?"

The way they talk to me, the way the conversations all seem to blur into one, makes me feel as though I am the patient and not Annie. I spend my days stood in white corridors with bright, clinical lighting blaring down on me. Everything seems to roll into one.

I don't really sleep, instead I nap sporadically, stealing a few hours here and there but the bright lights never dim and no matter how many conversations I have nothing seems to change. Their medical jargon is just the same.

There is no word of Annie the person and even Annie the patient feels a long way away instead of in a bed on the other side of the door. She had become a specimen- a scientific sample for them to experiment on and observe. Their interests and mine are wildly different. I want to know how she feels, if she misses me, if she is lonely, what she makes of all this, but from the snippets I have heard the doctors are more concerned with how the illness presents itself and what implications that might have for a diagnosis.

Some officials ask me when she will be ready for the crowning but as the week draws on no one is able to give me a straight answer.

As time goes by rumours start spreading across the Capitol and everyone is talking about what has happened to Annie. One newspaper says they are trying to recreate her in mutt form after she died during treatment. The way they speak of her it really does feel as though she is dead. I see no evidence to tell me otherwise, either.

Sometimes I am hauled away from the white walls and the smell of disinfectant for interviews. They clean me up and push me out in front of a hoard of cameras where a group of vultures pick at me for information. No matter what the question my answer is virtually the same.

"She is still recovering in hospital. We hope she will be fully recuperated by the end of the week."

Mags stays with me, even though she probably shouldn't. She, at least, brings some clarity to the situation.

At the beginning of the second week some attendants come for me. I am cleaned and dressed and taken in a limousine to the back door of the Capitol's justice building where I am met by the President and Fabricius. After the endless monotony of the hospital this doesn't quite feel real. It is as if I am living a strange dream.

"I told you today would come," The President says grimly as I step inside.

"What do you mean?"

"The crowds grow weary waiting for the crowning," Fabricius explains, "We are going to give them another spectacle in its place."

I glance from one of their faces to the other and still things aren't making sense. I have no idea what is happening.

An attendant presses a trident into my hand. It isn't the lightweight ceremonial kind that I sometimes am asked to hold at events, this is the real thing. I still remember my first trident. My father gave it to me and I almost fell over under the weight. He had laughed but within a month his laughter was gone and instead he looked at me with pride. A lump grows in my throat as I remember that look. I miss him so much.

"What spectacle?" I struggle to see in the dim light but I can still hear the unmistakable sound of a crowd outside the front of the building. Over on the far side of the room two guards stand over a prisoner. I can't see who it is but I can just make out the handcuffs on a pair of small wrists.

"The time has come for your _revenge_." The president almost hisses the last word because he knows what effect it will have.

And finally it all slips into it all makes sense.

They don't need to explain to me what is expected before I follow the president out onto the stage that has been erected outside. In the back of my mind part of me had always known that this was coming. In the centre of the platform, in plain sight of everyone, a block has been positioned for the show.

As the President gives his speech the two guards lead Hydra out the Justice Building and force her to her knees in front of the block. Her eyes meet mine and I swear I almost see her nod, as if she approves of what I have to do, as if she understands. Just before she places her neck on the block I see her clearly mouth the words 'I'm sorry'.

The two guards stand by her but there is nowhere for her to go and she doesn't look as though she is about to put up a fight. If she is afraid she does not show it. I find myself admiring her, in spite of everything. To have the courage as she did to give up everything for something she believes in- that has got to be the highest form of bravery.

I should be angry at her for killing my parents. I should be building this up in my mind to give me the strength to do what I must but the only thing I can think of is Snow and the words he whispered to me on the night of the Opening Ceremony.

_"You only kill on my request." _

It is that and not Hydra which infuriates me.

When the speeches are over and there is nothing left but for me to bring an end to this horrible scene I step forward, trident in hand and I try to imagine that it is not Hydra who is knelt at my feet but the President. I don't let myself overthink what I have to do. She may have given the order but it was because of him that they died- there is no mistake about that. It is all because of him.

As I drive my trident downwards I force myself to look at him so he can see the hatred. I want him to know that it is him I see. I want everyone to see the truth. I am not Snow's man.

The trident falls so hard that it becomes stuck in the block and I can't free it. It is not the best weapon for an execution; I can see why it is not traditional. It is the symbolism that matters though. At least I think that is why Snow did it. I was recruited for the Praetorians after she gave me my trident in the games and now, because of it, she is being killed by that same weapon. It takes a while for her to die but I don't let myself watch. I don't want to see what I have done because if I do I will have to believe it.

The crowd, of course, cheers as though they have viewed the closing scenes in a play. I half expect Snow and the guards to step forward and take a bow, for Hydra to get back up and receive her own applause. I wonder when it was that people started finding joy in the suffering of others.

My part over I am allowed to disappear again to the bright corridors of the training centre hospital, as if nothing has happened at all. Unlike after the Games there will be no Mr O'Brien to call me a murderer even though I am pretty sure that is what I am. Instead they shake my hand and thank me for getting rid of a terrorist.

I am overcome with a feeling of being unclean, as though I am covered in her blood, but I don't have a chance to wash before doctor Costas approaches me.

"We would like to see how she responds to you now."

"You mean I can see her?" I ask stupidly, my mind, as usual, finding it difficult to keep up.

"We have given her some new medication and we think it has stabilised her condition but, just to be sure, we would to see how she manages with company outside the team who have been working with her. The situation with the mutt has been explained and she seems to understand but obviously we shall be on standby in case you being there causes her any further distress. Clearly, if that is the case, then we must again ask you to leave the room right away. Is that clear?"

"Yes."

My heart is thudding so fast that it almost feels like a constant humming. I get to see Annie. Maybe she is alright, maybe the drugs will work and she will be fine and we can all go home again and things will be as they should have been all along.

Nervously I allow the doctors to show me inside. This time she isn't in bed but is sat in an chair. A book is propped open across the arm of it but Annie shows no interest in it. She sits gazing blankly at the wall, her mouth turned downwards in a glum frown.

"Annie?" I rush to her side, throwing myself onto my knees at the side of her chair; I grasp hold of her hand in mine. "How are you feeling?" my voice is hoarse because my throat has closed up and I can hardly breathe.

"They've taken him away," she says quietly, her voice a little flatter than usual.

"Who?"

"Eoghan. They won't let me see him anymore."

I don't know what I am meant to tell her. What would the doctors want me to say? Surely she needs to know the truth but somehow I can't bring myself to say it aloud. It is still too raw and I don't want to see her sadness- I don't want to be the person who brings her the news.

"Have the hallucinations stopped?"

She smiles weakly, "You were the only hallucination. I was just… confused after the Games." Every word is lacking in the usual emotion that she would display making her seem like a shell of her former self.

My thumb gently rubs the back of her hand and she looks down at it numbly, as though unsure of quite how to respond. Eventually she pulls away. "Why won't they let me see him?"

"The crowning will be soon. Then we'll be able to go home."

She begins to cough and clutches at her throat. "I can never get it out," she says.

"What?"

"This feeling. Sort of… I think I've lost something," she coughs again, "I just want to… let it out but I can't do it." She keeps coughing, her frown deepening. "Has someone died?" She is very matter of fact.

"Annie, you were in the Games…"

"Yes, that's right, that girl died."

A chill runs down my spine because I have never heard her sound so cold. This medication- whatever it is might have stopped the hallucinations but it has also taking her away from me. This isn't right. This isn't her.

"It's so quiet in here," she says. "I know everyone is here but they're not saying anything."

"No one is here. There is just you and me."

She sighs as though I am missing something obvious. "I think it would be best if you left now," she says. "I'm very tired."

"Alright."

I lean in to give her hug before I leave but she turns away, her expressionless face staring again at the wall. So I move away and join the doctors who are stood outside the door, all waiting for my verdict on their solution.

"What do you think?"

"Well, she seems stable but-"

"Then we will tell the officials that she can be presented for crowning tomorrow."

"Yes but-"

But none of them are interested in the way they have wiped away all her personality. All they can see is the solved puzzle not the mismatched connections or the missing pieces. Maybe it is better for now, while she has to face the crowds, but I won't let her stay like this forever. I want my Annie back. I have to get her back.


	75. Chapter 75

Watching Annie sit through the recap of the Games is like watching a ticking bomb that is ready to go off at any minute. The group of doctors who have been treating her sit offstage, ready to intervene at any moment. I am on the edge of my seat, just waiting for things to go wrong. She is not ready, I know she's not.

I have no idea how much everyone knows about what has been happening in the Training Centre. I have seen no news headlines so I assume it has all been kept on a need-to-know basis. I don't know if Caesar Flickerman has been told. He words everything very carefully, giving Annie lots of time to think. Sometimes he leads her into saying exactly what the audience expects. He has been doing this sort of thing for years. He always knows how to make a tribute look good. Anyway, today is all about watching the recap which means there isn't much time for chatter. A few short sentences is enough to convince the world that she Is doing well, that she is pleased that she won and she is looking forward to going seems to ignore her blank expression. Fortunately no one mentions Eoghan.

When the lights dim I grip onto my hand and dig my nails into the palm- I need something to hold onto before I watch it all again. This is worse than watching my own Games recap. I just about calmed myself in time. I try to look like I'm paying attention to the screen, however, my eyes follow onl Annie, watching for any change in her anything happens, anything at all, I will rush in and take her away- tak eher somewhere safe. I'm all prepared for my mission but when the huge screen lights up I can't help but look and stare because it is not what I expected.

The first image is of Annie and Eoghan caught in a desperate embrace on reaping day. I knew Eoghan would be in the footage, of course, just I underestimated the impact of seeing him again. I tell myself over and over how I should be watching Annie, making sure she is alright, but I just can't take my eyes off the screen because every glance, every fleeting moment, is like having my best friend back- even if it is just for a second.

Lots of the footage focuses on Eoghan- mostly precious moments when the two siblings are caught together- looking puzzled at their arrival from the train, smiling and waving at the opening ceremonies, reassuring glances in training, quiet conversations the arena. At one point Eoghan's laughter rings through the auditorium. I really hope I never forget that sound.

The narrative they are going for this year is that even though she has won she still had to make sacrifices- she couldn't win without the death of her brother. It puts her in the same position as all those families back in the Districts who have lost someone they love. This year, effectively, there is no victor. There is only Annie who somehow survived.

She sits perfectly still through the whole of the beginning of the presentation. On the monitor that shows what is being broadcast I notice how initially they cut to Annie quite regularly. But she is so still that anyone watching could easily mistake that the camera had broken and was recording no new images. Not even her eyes move, they just stare at the same place in the centre of the screen. After the first hour they stop showing her reaction and instead show snippets of how the audience, or Mags and I, react.

Despite the gruesome footage I actually begin to enjoy it. I miss Eoghan so much. Any opportunity to feel as though he is still here is like a bonus. In some small way, I am grateful. If he had died out on a boat there would have been no way for me to bring him back again but now I can see him whenever I want. There will be repeats on television and maybe, if I ask nicely, they will let me have a copy so I can resurrect the past whenever I want. If he had to die- for whatever reason- then I'm glad that someone filmed him beforehand. Memories have a terrible way of fading and slipping away into bare bones of truth. My parents have only been gone a year and already they are sliding away from me.

It is only when my enjoyment changes to dread at what is going to happen that I can look away and completely focus on Annie. Seeing him die once was enough, I don't think I could face it again. Annie, however, is still staring at the screen. It as if she hasn't a clue about what is going to happen or, if she does, she chooses not to register it.

As the careers run towards Eoghan and Linden all my muscles tense as I brace myself for what is to come. Annie shifts slightly, tilting her head ever so slightly to the left. The movement is very small but after watching her sit completely still for over two hours it seems colossal.

As it continues her movements grow a little bigger. As Furia begins to pick a fight with Eoghan she starts rocking backwards and forwards- slowly at first and then with greater intensity. By the time Eoghan Is trying to prise the mace from Furia's grasp and their taunts echo through the speakers Annie has her hands over her ears. It is just as I have seen her do before in the arena when she didn't want to face up to something that was being said.

On the screen Furia rushes towards Annie, reaching for the sword. A high pitch screech suddenly permeates the air like the sound of a newly boiled kettle. It takes me a moment to realise that it is coming from Annie.

She is on her feet now, staring at the audience with alarm and confusion. She is like a wild animal- she wants to escape but she can't see a way to get out. She darts one way and then the other but wherever see turns she is met with the same nervous stares. I get to my feet, hoping she will see me in the crowd but if she does it brings her no comfort. Unable to run anywhere she throws herself onto the floor, curling her legs in tightly beneath her body and tucking her head under, her hands still clamped over her ears, still screaming manically.

It all happened so fast. One minute she is as still and as placid as a lake on a summer's day the next she is a whirligig, chopping and churning in a frenzy. I rush towards the stage, ignoring the people who are stood in the stalls, straining to get a good view at the poor girl who is having a nervous breakdown on stage.

I throw myself down in front of her, trying to hide her from their gaze and I lean right down to the floor where there is a chance of talking to her.

"Annie? Annie, it's me. "

But the scream doesn't stop. I glance around, waiting for the doctors to come and help but it seems that nobody knows quite what to do. I would guess that the cameras are still rolling.

I place a hand on her back so she knows I am nearby.

"Annie, it's alright," I tell her. "You don't have to watch it anymore."

Her prolonged howl finally breaks and shatters into uncontrollable sobs. Still I can't get close to her. She is still buried in a tight little ball.

A couple of the camera men shout to one another and the director finally gives the sign for them to shut off the cameras. It is only then that the doctors step forward and form a neat little circle around Annie and me.

"You don't have to watch it anymore."

Behind us on the big screen I just see the shadow of Eoghan's head as it rolls across the grass. On some level she knows the truth else she wouldn't have known to turn away. Somewhere she must register that he is really dead, even if she won't truly allow herself to believe it. All of this stems for her denial.

"Where is Eoghan," she whispers through her tears, "Where is Eoghan? I want Eoghan."

I don't know what to say, whether to makes promises to her that I can't keep or tell her the truth. But she is so fragile and there are so many people that I can't break her anymore. I can't tell her the one thing she is desperate not to hear.

"Why won't they let me see him?"

"I… don't worry… I-" I blunder my words again. I don't know what to say to her. I feel useless. There should be something I can do. Some way for me to reach her.

Suddenly she sits up and her eyes- startlingly bright- lock with mine, she is still searching, searching for something that she will never find. Everything is frantic. Her movement is like the mad flutter of bird's wings as they fly frightened into the air. It is as if the mania within is fighting to get out.

She claws at her arm in her frustration. Her sharp nails digging deep groves into her skin as though she is trying to shed the whole thing. I reach out to take hold of her arms to stop her but she just turns her back on me, shutting me out of whatever world she has gone to. I can't help her. I don't know what to do to help her.

The drugs were meant to make her better. They were meant to solve everything but one look at Annie tells me that nothing is solved. All these experts and they can't find a way to fix her. I wish people came with spare parts that could just be replaced because she is broken and nothing short of a clean slate could fix her.

As the words rumble round my mind I realise what I have finally admitted to myself. She isn't fixable. She isn't about to get better overnight. This could be permanent. She could forever be lost.

One of the women bends down and begins pulling Annie to her feet. She has no choice but to comply. She is as weak as a ragdoll as they lead her away from the thousands of curious stares. I don't know whether to stay or to follow. In the end I go backstage and trying to listen for the fallout. Better to give her some space.

Behind the scenes they don't even try to lower their voices. There is a flurry of movement as messages are passed back and forth. Caesar is slumped against a wall, mopping his forehead. For as long as I've known him he has always been pretty unflappable but now the cracks are showing. He slowly turns to me.

"I just didn't know what to do, they told me she would need coaxing but I didn't realise…"

That's the problem, no one in the whole of Panem realised. This has never happened before. Somehow victors have always found a way to hold it together during the recap, knowing that in a few short days they would finally be allowed to go home and get on with the rest of their lives.

I suppose I should have known she wouldn't be able to cope but I so much wanted for everything to OK that I didn't allow myself to think it wasn't. I should never have let them put her on the stage; she should have been allowed to just slip away back to District 4 where she at least has a chance of recovery.

Slowly I make my way back to the Training Centre where I tread the familiar route back to Annie's room. There is no guard on the door this time so I walk straight in, nervous for what I might find.

As usual the room is full of people. However, these are not the doctors and nurses of before. Instead a team of avoxes are wheeling away the equipment and changing the sheets on the bed. It is as if they are preparing the room for the next person. I do I quick sweep of the room but it easy to see that Annie isn't here. It is as if they are erasing her from the Training Centre.

"Where have they taken her?"

Of course no one answers. I look from face to face but not one of them is able to give me a reply. I step back out into the corridor but it is completely empty- there is no sign of any of the doctors or nurses, not even Mags is there.

I said before the Games that I wanted Annie to become invisible when they were over so she would be left alone. What I didn't want was for her, in the process, to become invisible to me as well.


	76. Chapter 76

**AN- Sorry for the delay. Got a lot on at the moment and life keeps getting in the way of writing.**

* * *

><p>"Maybe this is for the best." I watch her through the one way mirror as a nurse attends to her. The walls are covered in padding and the furniture is nailed down to the floor and walls. It is all very minimal so she has no way of hurting her drink of water comes in a plastic cup. She sits in an armchair and from this distance she seems perfectly normal but she isn't Annie. The way she moves, the look in her eye, the tone of her voice- none of it belongs to her. I don't even know who she is. Every time I see her it is like the first time.<p>

In a small way she seems happy. An empty sort of smile spreads across her face – the same smile I have seen every day since I have visited her here. They must be doing something right.

I grip hold of the dado rail that runs just below the mirror as a string of terrible thoughts flow through my mind. The same thoughts that have been bothering me for weeks and somehow I just can't shake them off. I am terrible person and I hate myself for thinking it, but when I look at her I feel nothing but sadness and pity. She is no longer my friend; she is no longer the girl I love. That's the worst of it. I don't love her. How can I when she is a completely new person? She might as well have died.

I so desperately want to love her- more than anything I want to feel the same way as before but no matter what I do, no matter how I try, it is impossible to recapture it. Sometimes it is as if she has no idea who I am at all.

Johanna was right; I am incapable of real love. The first time I have dared to let myself to feel anything and it is gone just as quickly as it appeared. All that is left is a sense of loyalty towards a girl I once knew that happens to share a name with this…. Victor.

At least, I am pretty sure she won't miss me. So I will turn away and pretend it never happened, just like I always do. Sometimes it is the only way to survive.

I turn and make a move towards the door. Mags grabs hold of my arm. "Finnick?"

"They are looking after her. She will be safe here." I set my jaw and turn my back on her.

This is better for Annie- they will try and help her. They are not treating her unkindly and they know how to deal with this sort of thing. It's time to go home.

"What about her grandfather? We can't return without her"

"There is nothing for her in four. There is no one to care for her- Mr Cresta can't do it. She needs help. They can provide that here. He will understand"

Mags shakes her head, "She needs normality. She needs a chance to find herself again."

"We can't just fix her and it is stupid to think so. We might as well collect up all the other tributes we've lost and try and fix them as well. She will never be like she was before."

I will face Mr Cresta when I have to but right now I want to be alone. I reach the door and pull it open. "The train will reach the station at 4. I'll see you there."

"I'm not going without Annie."

"Then I hope you enjoy your new life in the Capitol."

I feel cold and cruel as I shut the door but I need to leave Annie where she can get help. While she stays in the hospital Snow won't dare touch her- who would pay for the favours of a mad victor? And I know no harm will come to her while the nurses watch her. She would never be able to live alone ,anyway, and it would be irresponsible of us to force her to try. I'm sure her grandfather could visit. And I will visit. All the time. I owe her that much.

Besides, even if I still loved her I would still make the same decision. She is not fit for any sort of relationship. She is a like a child. She is better off staying here where she can make herself some kind of new life. Somehow find a place where she is can be stable and happy.

The door bangs against the frame behind me but I know Mags is following; I can hear the shuffle of her footsteps.

"Don't you dare walk away!" she shouts, her voice as serious and as authoritative as a teacher's.

I have never heard her sound like that before. It stops me dead in my tracks.

"After all this time- all the times you fought for her, willed her to come out alive you are just going to abandon her now?"

"There is nothing I can do to help her. I'm useless against this. I'm not a doctor or a nurse- I don't even understand what she is going through. Every time I see her she just slips further and further away and there is nothing I can do about it! There is nothing I can do to stop this."

Mags smiles sadly, "Ah, so that's what this is, is it?"

"What?"

"You're scared."

I'm terrified. Annie terrifies me. The responsibility of caring for her terrifies me.

I want to crumble again. To dissolve into a heap on the floor but I won't. I am resolved. This is for the best. Somehow it is hard to contain it all when I'm around Mags, though. I feel like a child again.

"It's not that." I tell her.

"Then what?"

"This is for the best, I know it is." I don't know why she can't see that. "You really want to take her back home? They will expect her to live the life of a victor. They will never leave her alone."

"You're being selfish. Just because things are getting hard you want to bail out. You are meant to love her."

_Meant to. _Of course. In sickness or in health I am meant to feel the exact same way. It doesn't matter what I need or how I feel because everyone expects me to do the honourable thing and stay by her side. I can't do it, though; I can't love this crazy, unpredictable, lost girl. I don't want to see her every day and wonder if she'll recognise me. I don't want to always be on guard around her. I don't want to be always searching for small pieces of happiness in an impossible situation. I just want the simplicity of before.

"Sign the release papers. At least give her a chance to lead a normal life again. "

"I don't love her," I confess in a tangle of words that my tongue trips over. I wait for her to reprimand me, to say something that adds to my guilt, but she doesn't.

"But you care for her. You care what happens to her."

"Yes." A thousand times yes.

"Then give her a chance."

I was sure that I had made the right decision yet I trust in Mags. In my experience she has always known best. Perhaps it is worth trying. If it goes wrong I could always bring her back… maybe… maybe… a slither of hope enters my mind. Does Mags really think there is a chance…?

"Do you think we shall ever get her back?"

Mags shrugs, "Who knows, maybe we will get someone even better."

When I go to the office to sign the release papers the staff give me disapproving looks and ask me how I am going to care for her but no matter what they say Mags finds a way to divert their comments. When they talk endlessly about how they have cared for Annie for the last three weeks and how they have grown fond of her and know how she likes things Mags tells them that I have known Annie her whole life and so I probably know her better than anyone.

They pile up tablets and schedules and endless advice into a carrier bag and thrust it across the table towards us. I put it down by my feet and almost forget to bring it with me when they lead us through to the next room where Annie is waiting with a nurse.

She doesn't even look at me. Her fingers fumble with a small piece of string that the nurse tells me she has been playing with all morning.

"Twisting it into knots like I have never seen before!" the nurse exclaims to me, as if Annie wasn't there. Mostly she isn't.

I lean into towards Mags so I can whisper in her ear, "If it doesn't work out-"

"It will," she says.

We are followed by reporters all the way to the station. Every time a camera flashes Annie leaps wildly in shock, momentarily stunned by the bright light. I bury her under my arm and try to direct her into the car as quickly as I can, ignoring their stupid questions. It is only when we are on the train and it is pulling out of the station that I am finally able to relax.

The three of us sit together. Mags and Annie share a sofa and I sit near them in a chair, a drink clutched in my hand. Annie still plays endlessly with her rope.

"Annie?" Mags says gently.

She looks up, meeting someone's gaze for the first time since she has been released from the hospital.

"We are going home," Mags tells her.

Annie smiles, "It's all over?" she asks. She is so like her old self that something does a little leap in chest. Maybe she is going to say that it was all part of the show- that it was her way of becoming invisible. That everything is alright really and we can live happily ever after. I sit forward in my chair.

"Yes. It's all over," Mags tells her.

She slowly looks towards me. I wait for her to say it- I urge her to but she gets to her feet. "I'm going to go to my room."

"I'll show you the way." I gulp the last bit of my drink and put the glass down on the table.

I follow her down the long hallway of the train, pointing out each of the rooms along the way. When we reach the room that belonged to Eoghan on the way to the Capitol I tell her it is an empty room. She looks confused but doesn't question it.

When we reach her room I push open the door and let her go inside. She sits down on the bed and looks up at me with the same confusion as when I told her about the empty room.

"Aren't you going to come in?"

"All right." I step in awkwardly, unsure of what she expects.

She reaches out and takes my hand, gently pulling me towards her until I sit down next to her on the bed. "You're different," she tells me. "What happened to you?"

"I lost someone very close to me."

"That was careless of you," she giggles as though she has just made a fantastic joke.

She looks down at our hands, at the way our fingers have intertwined. It is just like it is supposed to be. How I want it to be. I try to pull away but she leans in towards me, her lips seeking out mine. They meet with the lightest of touches at first and then she leans in more. I am so desperate for this – so desperate to capture the exact place we were before but it is nowhere close because I know beyond those lips is a fractured mind. I feel my lip begin to quiver and I quickly pull back.

"We can't do this," I tell her. "This isn't right."

"Don't worry," she says, "Eoghan doesn't mind. You're his best friend."

She leans in again but I push her back. "No." I scramble off the bed, stumbling through the door I fall out of it into the hallway.

"Finnick?"

This is how it is always going to be from now on. I am always going to be walking on eggshells trying to navigate between who we used to be- together- and who we are now- apart. I miss her so much but this is not the same person. She will never be the same person.

I get to my feet, "I need some fresh air," and I storm off to the end of the train, willing her not to follow me.


	77. Chapter 77

The landscape of District 4 has changed again. When I look out my window the only thing I see is Annie's house. All the curtains are closed and just a slither of light peers through the upstairs window. That's how I know she is there. She never sleeps with the light off anymore- that is if she sleeps at all- I'm not sure. This light is just one of the many things I have noticed since returning home, since I have spent hours staring through windows. I don't know why I do it; I guess I am trying to see something in her that reminds me of who she used to be. Or maybe I am just too frightened to turn away.

It would be easy to avoid her. I could go out on the boat and sail out to sea or spend a day on the beach or take the train back to the Capitol but I don't do any of these things. Instead I sit and watch and hope and wait. I don't know what I'm worried about. People visit her all the time- she is never alone. I know this and yet I also know what the Games can do. It can make even the most social person seem completely alone.

Every night I wake up from screaming nightmares- Hollis' feet dangling above the table, the rope swinging ever so slightly. I am both myself watching as well as Hollis himself, tying the rope round the beam, climbing onto the table, making that fatal final step. I haven't thought about it in years yet now it is always on my mind. Each time I wake from it I go to the window and look across at Annie's house, checking that she is alright.

Her curtain flutters and is slowly pulled back. I lean back, ducking behind the frame as Annie looks out but obviously I'm not quick enough as she looks directly at me, our eyes meeting. She must have known that I was there. Even from this distance I can see that she has been crying.

I ask her if she is alright- with exaggerated mouthed words but she just shrugs. We stare at each other for a while, neither of us quite sure what to do. She turns to look to her side at something I can't see within the frame of the window. She shouts something, her agitation growing. For a second her eyes dart across at me again, pleadingly, and I know I can't leave her any longer.

Without bothering to change out of my pyjamas I run downstairs and out onto the path that runs through the victor's village. Annie's door has been left open so I go through it into the immaculately minimalist house that she hasn't yet had a chance to make her own, and I go to her.

When I step into the room she looks up at me in surprise then slumps down onto her bed, shoulders hunched, head bowed. "I couldn't sleep," she says matter-of-factly. There is no sign of the agitation I had seen through the window.

"Are you alright?"

She gives me a sideways glance and the corner of her mouth tilts upwards in a bitter sort of smile. "I think you can answer that better than me."

"It's always tough the first few months after the Games."

"Yeah," she wipes the tears from her cheek and looks nervously towards the wardrobe as if she is afraid something might burst out of it at any moment.

I sit down next to her on the bed but I keep my distance in case I become the next recipient of her shouting. "Who were you talking to?" I ask.

"Me and Eoghan had an argument."

"About what?"

Another shrug. She slowly looks up at me. "I haven't seen you since we got back. Have you been avoiding me?"

"No… I just… I've just been busy."

I know she doesn't believe me. Unlike in the Capitol there is nothing that I have to do here. I have no real excuse for not seeing her. Annie has her problems but stupidity isn't one of them.

"Grandfather came to see me. And Mags. And Hake. They weren't too busy. Grandfather has to work every day, Hake has school but they both came…."

"I'm sorry, I just…. Needed some space."

"It wasn't quite right, though," she continues without stopping to listen to my apologies. "The way they speak to me… has something happened?"

"It's always like that after the Games. People don't know how to react. It changes things."

"But it's not just that… it's as if… as if they are afraid of me. I can see it in their eyes. I can see it in your eyes- you won't even come close to me."

Suddenly the small gap between us on the bed seems immense. I begin to feel insensitive. I am behaving as if insanity is catching. Of course she would start to notice. Everyone treats her as if she is a bomb that is about to go off. How could she not?

She narrows her eyes, looking for an answer in my expression. I try to remain as blank faced as possible until she looks away. I can still see the tear tracks down her cheeks. Whatever it was that she had been arguing about with Eoghan it couldn't have been good.

"Is something wrong with me?"

Again I am taken off guard. "What makes you think that?"

"All those doctors, the way people always talk about me as though I'm not there, the fear and worry in their eyes. It's like… they see me as different."

"It's just the Games, it's normal…." I don't know how many times I can tell the same old lie. It's not just the Games, it's not just that the situation has changed.

She shakes her head, "No, it's not. I know it's not. Everything is different. It wasn't like this when you got home. I remember. They look at me as though it is wrong that I feel sad about what happened. Am I meant to be happy that they died?"

"No, of course not."

"Then why do they react like that?"

"They're just worried."

So gets up off the bed and goes over to the wardrobe, opening the doors and restlessly looking through the groups of clothes that hang from the rail.

I awkwardly get to my feet, "If you are going to get dressed then I should…" I gesture towards the door but she ignores me.

She throws one of the dresses down onto the bed, then another and another making a heap of them.

"What are they trying to hide from me," she ponders, as though it is the dresses she is talking about. "Do they think I won't understand? Is that it?"

I duck as a coat flies past me, missing the bed so it is strewn across the floor. "Annie?"

"Am I too stupid?" Another dress is thrown across the room. The wardrobe is half empty now but she keeps on pulling the clothes out and throwing them aside, paying little attention to what she is actually doing.

"No. It's just that-"

"Am I not important enough to know?"

"What are you doing?"

She lifts up the remaining clothes all in one go and carries them, hangers and all onto the bed with the rest.

"I don't want these," she says, "They're not mine. I don't want any of their _things._ They can take them all back."

"But what are you going to wear?"

"The same clothes I used to. I've asked grandfather to have them sent round tomorrow. I'm not going to go about pretending to be someone I'm not."

Her assurance and determination are the same as they always were. I remember the speeches she gave before the Games about staying the same person and it seems she is still resolved to stick to that. If only she knew how much she has changed.

She begins to pile up the shoes as well; all the creations that have been sent by her stylist, all of them are rejected and added to the pile on the bed.

"What are you going to do with them all?"

"Give them away to someone that needs them because I don't."

I don't know whether I should help her or try and persuade her to keep them. Unable to make a decision, I just watch hopelessly, trying to figure out what I should say to her.

When the wardrobe is completely cleared and the last shoe is piled high with the rest she throws herself back onto the bed which the rest of the things, as if she is going to get rid of this new version of herself too.

She lets out a deep sigh, staring up at the ceiling. She holds out one of her hands towards me so I step forward and awkwardly take it.

"You can tell me the truth, you know." She whispers. "I won't hate you for it."

I don't know what to say. At some point she will have to know what is going on and maybe it will help her get better if she does. Maybe she will begin to understand that what she is seeing isn't real. However, if I do tell her, she will have to know that Eoghan is dead and that would break her heart. It is a situation that has no right or wrong answer.

"What were you and Eoghan arguing about?"

She pulls her hand away from mine and tentatively looks around. "He thinks we should leave. He doesn't trust the Capitol. He wants to take one of the boats from the harbour and sail away to where no one will find us but I don't want to leave- not yet. They are watching us. And besides, there is too much that would have to be left behind. When I told him that he got angry." Tears begin to roll down her cheeks again and I sense that she is really afraid. Somehow her laughing, fun-loving brother has been turned into an ogre in her unstable mind. "I have never seen him that angry before. I was terrified. I thought he was going to hit me. He told me I either go away with him or I should throw myself off the balcony because that's the only other way to escape them. " she lets out a deep sob, pulling her knees up into her chest.

Hearing that pretty much makes up my mind for me- she has to know the truth. She has to know that she mustn't listen to Eoghan- that anything he does say is harmful to her and doesn't come from her brother. "Annie, it's alright. It's not real." I tell her, trying to keep my voice steady.

"He really meant it- I know he did."

"It's not real. It never happened." After saying it once the words become to form more easily. It is as if some seal has been broken and everything is able to spill out.

She sits up, staring at me in disbelief. "You weren't here. How do you know?"

"I know because Eoghan isn't here."

She is puzzled but she allows me to continue.

"He died in the Games."

She gets to her feet moving towards me, "What are you talking about?" there is anger there, she is furious because she thinks I'm lying but I have no choice but to continue now I have begun, no matter what the consequences.

"He died" I try to say it as plainly as possible, to make it clear to her- to make it seem as though I truly am telling the truth.

"Stop it!" she shouts into my face, throwing her fists against my chest.

But I can't stop it. She has to understand. "Eoghan is dead," I say again, trying to grab hold of her, to keep her still and to stop her beating me. I am trying to appeal to the Annie I used to know- the sane, rational part of her that must still exist somewhere.

"No, stop it- that never happened, it never happened!" she propels her head into my chest, beating it over and over again, always saying the same thing '"It never happened! It never happened!" she keeps going until she loses all energy and she allows herself to fall downwards onto the floor, holding her hands over her ears and shaking her head.

I kneel down next to her and try and take her hands away, "It did happen," I tell her. "And every time you have seen him since the Games he hasn't been there. You just wanted him to be so much that you saw him. He wasn't really saying all those things. It never really happened. You mustn't listen to him."

Her anger turns to wails and sobs and she flails around on the floor, pulling at her hair and fighting the mixture of confusing thoughts that surround her. I kneel down next to her, but not too close- she needs space to yell and jam her fists into the floor. I don't say anymore. I have said enough. Somehow I have reached her and though it is painful and awful she at least seems to understand.

"But that means… that means I'm all alone." The thought seems to sober her. Her hands collapse down by her side and she stares at me, still struggling against her disbelief.

"You're not. We're here; we're all here with you. We want to help you"

"It all seemed so real. It must be real. He is still here. I know he is. I would feel it if he was gone."

She pauses a moment, her head clasped in her hands and, by the expression on her face, I can see that she does feel it now. The emptiness is within her just as it is in me. She knew it all along- she knew it at the recap when she broke down before his death appeared on the big screen, she knew it in the arena when she spoke to the mutt but it is only now that she is willing to feel it.

"How am I meant to know what to believe?"

I don't know. When dreams and nightmares and reality all combine it is impossible to know. Anything could just as easily be a lie as it is truth. Even the Games themselves seem too horrible to believe and yet we all know they happened. Sometimes I dream up better days where I sit in the sunshine with my family- the smell of the sea is everywhere and everything is happy. It could so easily be the truth- in another time, in another place and yet here it can never be anything but a distant dream. Everything is so tangled, even in my mind, I can't begin to imagine what it must be like for her.

"We'll figure it out," I promise.


	78. Chapter 78

I still don't know if I love her but I know I want her to get better and I know I want to help her to do that . I suppose something like love doesn't matter a great deal in the face of it all because it wouldn't change anything right now.

We start each day the same way. I wake up around eight; get washed and dressed, make myself breakfast- the usual things. I head over to Annie's house around ten. Usually she will be sat in the sitting room flicking through the pages of a book from her study or sometimes making something or mending her grandfather's clothes. I sit down in the large rocking chair that is opposite the sofa and we have the usual conversation.

"How did you sleep?"

Sometimes she will answer right away.

"Not very well- I thought Furia was chopping through my door with an axe"

But other times it takes a very long time for her to reply because she isn't really there sat in the chair opposite me- she is off somewhere, imagining different things, seeing different people. I once asked about the place that she goes when she is left alone and her mind takes over her senses. She explained that it was like diving into a lake and she would never know what she would find beneath the surface. Everything in the sitting room would be hidden by a misty, murky sort of ripple out of which anything might find her and when I speak to her it sounds as though I am the one that is a million miles away and not her and the reason it takes her so long to reply is because sometimes she swims a long way away from the surface of the lake so it takes a long time to reach the fresh air above. I once asked her how she didn't drown in the lake but she just shrugged and said she didn't need to breathe while she was there and somehow that makes sense because it isn't like she is really living when she is there.

She disappears to this other place so often that I sometimes wonder if she prefers to be there then she does in the real world. One time I sat and watched her for a whole hour before she finally turned round to me, smiled and said, "Hi, Finn," just the same as if I had only just stepped inside the door.

Another time it took even longer and she looked at me with tears brimming over the edges of her eyes and asked, "What if I am better off being mad?"

I didn't know what I could say to that. I suppose, in many ways she is better off being mad because then she could spend all her time beneath the lake and she wouldn't have to think about guilt or death or sadness or worry or even love or any of those things which are sometimes too difficult to handle in the real world. The problem is that I don't want her to be mad because I miss her when she is gone. I am the boy that sits on the banks of the lake wishing her could follow her but knowing he can't because even if he tried he would never end up in the same place. If I could I would follow her to the deepest depths of the waters and back but instead I am stranded like a child who knows he cannot swim and doesn't want to drown by trying, especially when there is no one standing by to save him.

When we are both sure the pair of us inhabit the same space at the same time and can communicate I let Annie take the lead in the conversation. Each morning she tells me all the things that have happened to her since I left the day before.

"I cooked some lasagne and took it round to grandfather's house. We ate it together on the back porch. There was a woman in the garden who was hungry, she kept looking at my plate and opening her mouth- I suppose it was a mouth, it looked sort of like a beak. Sometimes she came right up to the table and begged for food. She reminded me of a blackbird hopping around. I didn't give her any food but I felt guilty about it afterwards because she looked so hungry and there was more than enough.I probably should have given her some. Her eyes were so big- always pleading. I think it was food that she wanted."

Even when I know things like the bird lady aren't real I still let her go on running through the day as though she is saying nothing unusual. Sometimes, as she is describing things to me, she stops mid-sentence and I can almost hear the internal struggle as she tries to make sense of what she has seen. I think, upon retelling events to me, she is somehow able to put things in perspective.

The bird lady comes up a lot- she always wants something and sometimes Annie gives it to her and sometimes she doesn't. Once Annie said that the bird lady asked her to hold her still and not let her go until she said so because there was something inside her that she couldn't control herself so she needed Annie's help. So Annie took hold of her wrists and watched as she changed. It was as if an animal took hold of the bird woman- her eyes glowed and her teeth grew and she snarled and growled like a wolf. Annie said she managed to hold onto her but she was scared because she didn't know when the bird-lady was going to become a human again and she thought she might get hurt. I noticed that Annie had a row of bruises up the side of her left arm where someone must have gripped hold of her wrist. My understanding is that the bird lady is part of Annie but when I suggested this to her she shook her head and wouldn't talk to me for the rest of the day.

Other times she describes Eoghan or the other tributes. Sometimes she talks about her dad -several times she has told me that she found him on the beach and she describes glorious days they spend together. Sometimes she talks about Capitolians marches towards her with bizarre faces, chanting evil slogans at her. Sometimes she tells me that the people of District 4 have turned against her, or she asks me why I was mean to her. A few times she has played alongside a small girl that she calls Agnes.

Sometimes her visions seem so real that even I don't notice that they never happened until ask someone else about them. They are as much a help as they are a hindrance, though. They can make her forget her troubles or they can magnify them tenfold.

No matter what she says I just sit and listen and wait for her to finish. Then, piece by piece we begin to talk it through, trying to decide what did and did not happen. If I don't know then I check with those who will. By doing this we are able to follow patterns in her thinking and next time something similar happens she can try and conquer it. Every day it is like starting afresh. I feel as though I am always tentatively building houses around her to keep her safe from her own mind and, daily, it is gradually torn down until she is exposed again.

Sometimes it feels as though our talks make the biggest difference in the world, sometimes I think it would be better if I just left her alone. She is so unpredictable; the illness is so unpredictable that it is impossible to judge.

Sometimes she doesn't want to talk about it. Sometimes she can't. Sometimes she just crawls into my arms and I hold her until she stops shaking. Sometimes I find her sat in the cupboard beneath the sink or perched on the edge of the roof staring out to sea. I never know what I am going to find when I step inside her house each morning. It doesn't matter, I come anyway. I know that there must be a way I can help her, and I am not going to drop this until I have found it.

One night, while restlessly trying to sleep, things just kept popping into my mind. That day Annie experienced a bad episode with the bird lady and it had left me very upset and confused and worried and everything else that comes with having Annie in my life. Yet suddenly, as if out of nowhere, I suddenly remembered Plutarch on the first night I had met him as his fingers slowly twisted the sides of a Rubik's cube and I realised that this is exactly the same. I have to keep trying new things- keep twisting all the colours round and around until they finally begin to line up- until things can start making sense again for Annie. She will never be fixed, I know that, to do that I would have to erase everything that has happened, but maybe, just maybe, there is a way I can make this bearable for her.

Today when I open the sitting room door I pause slightly as I hear voices on the other side. I push the door ever-so-slightly ajar and try to make out what is being said.

"And apparently it has been going on for weeks!" a male voice exclaims followed by a ripple of Annie's laughter.

When I open the door I see Hake sat at Annie's side. When he sees me he quickly jumps to his feet as though I have caught him doing something wrong.

"I just popped over to say hi," he squeaks awkwardly.

I shrug, "Why are you telling me?" I take up my usual seat in the rocking chair.

"Would either of you two like something to drink?" Annie asks, glancing from me to Hake.

"I'm fine," I tell her, not wanting to be left alone with Hake while she goes to get it.

"I wouldn't mind a glass of water," Hake says, clearing his throat.

I consider offering to help Annie get it but she is up and out of the room before the words can even fully form in my mind.

Hake, still on his feet, awkwardly rocks on his heels, biting on his lip and contemplating me. "So…."

"Yes."

There is an awkward pause.

"Actually I wanted to talk to you," he says, still struggling to keep his voice in a masculine octave.

"Oh yeah?"

"It's just that… well, I know there was a bit of…. Awkwardness between us before what with…." He clears his throat instead of specifying what he means. We both know what he means. "But… well, the point I am trying to make is that we are both in the same position now."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, neither of us… what I mean to say is… well we want the same thing don't we- we want her to get better so… so I think it would just be better if we could be _civil._"

"Yes, I guess so."

"It would be better if we both… sing from the same hymn sheet, so to speak. Maybe we could share some ideas. After all, I think she needs all the friends she can get."

It's true. Annie hasn't exactly been inundated with visitors since she has returned. At first some old school friends of hers came by to see her but when they saw what was left they soon stopped coming. Having a friend who is a victor doesn't seem so glamorous when the said victor is screaming at the walls. The only people who see her now are her grandfather, Mags and the two of us. I hate to admit it but I sure that Hake is right, having the pair of us at each other's throats isn't going to help anything.

It is a while before I realise that I still haven't responded. Suddenly I am curious. "Do you…. Still have feelings for her?"

He is taken aback by the question but when he answers he is emphatic, "Of course, it's Annie!"

"How can you be so sure?"

"It's Annie," he replies, as if that is all the explanation that is required. "Don't you?"

"I don't really feel like I know her. Every day is a process of rediscovery."

Hake is about to reply when Annie reappears from the kitchen carrying a jug of water and three glasses on a tray. She smiles at the pair of us as she places it down on the coffee table then she takes up her usual position on the sofa and, without prompting from me, without explanation to Hake, she begins to share the events that passed since I last saw her.

At one point she gets up from her seat and looks out of her window. She stares out onto the landscape as she describes a tree that she saw in the garden. The way she describes it makes me sure that it must be the greatest tree that ever existed. A trunk so thick it must have been growing hundreds of years, so tall it could reach all the way to heaven, leaves hanging down like a curtain, stretching far across the grass. She tells us about the squirrel that ran up and down its trunk gathering its nuts and how she watched it, making sure she kept perfectly still so she didn't scare moment it passed right by her foot, seeminly not even noticing that she is alive as she is standing so still.

I get so lost in her story that I begin to forget to question whether or not it is real. Instead I remember a girl a little younger than Annie is now who had a way of telling stories that made everything always feel better. How her stories could bring me back from destruction and make me feel worthwhile again because, no matter how fantastical they were I could see some truthg in them and I understood all the kind things she was trying to tell me. And, just for a brief moment as she coontinues to describe the squirrel, I feel as though I might love her again because, for that moment her and this other girl are exactly the same.


	79. Chapter 79

**AN- Hi all, I am going to apologise in advance for the length of this chapter. I have exams for the next couple of weeks so I am very short on time. Once they are over then normal business shall be resumed, I promise.  
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* * *

><p>Each day I rediscover who you were<p>

Maybe I begin to know you again

Thoughts of old joy slowly begins to stir

A surge of waves softly whisper your name

But then some darkness hides the girl I knew

Behind wild eyes sanity can't explain

I reach out towards the blackening hue

And throw myself deep into her domain

Together we fight the furious foes

I know them too, because they are my own

And no matter how deep the madness goes

I won't leave you there to face it alone

For as long as waves crash upon the beach

Into this cruel abyss my hand will reach

She is invading my thoughts again. I try to write but every word is her. My memories of my Games are unfocused- the pain distant and untouchable. When I try to think of the arena it is her arena, when I try to think of the pain it is her pain.

Yesterday I went out on the boat but every reflection showed her face.

I'm not in love.

How could anyone love that poor broken girl? She belongs to no one. Her thoughts are impossible to contain. It would be impossible to pin her down for more than a moment at a time and I wouldn't want to try. She is like wild horses running across the beach.

In a small way I am jealous. Soon we will have to go back to the Capitol on the victory tour and I will belong to everyone again. So easily trapped and passed around. I have no excuses, their expectations were set long ago.

Feeling that familiar swell of melancholy, I look across the balcony and watch the waves gently roll, stretching out to the horizon. I need to get moving, get doing again, I need to find a way to distract myself. I take a final gasp of salty air then turn to go back into the house.I could fix up that net I broke at the weekend. I take half a step but I have to stop because if i move any more I would be standing on her feet.

She smiles up at me and I can't help but smile back. This moment is like a strange hair ripples in the wind, dark against the deep orange sunset.

It is impossible for her to be here- I would have heard the door open- I would have noticed her bare feet padding across the decking. She is supposed to be in her own home- I thought her grandfather had come to visit. Yet, despite all that, despite my vigilance and training, despite knowing that the balcony was completely deserted a moment ago; somehow she has crept up on me.


	80. Chapter 80

I have been expecting a phone call for over a month now. I expect it because I know there is only so much time that can pass before they interrupt our lives again. It is impossible to escape the constant hounding of their relentless press. I can't keep Annie to myself forever, they will undoubtedly destroy the small pieces of stability that we have created and throw her back into the circus. To let her be would be too kind.

As I step into the hallway I am so expectant that I can almost hear the phone ringing, hear the strange Capitol accent on the end of the line. I am not surprised, therefore, when my phantom ringing becomes reality. Still caught up in my own thoughts, I pick up the phone.

"Hello, is that Finnick?"

One thing I hadn't imagined; that Fabricius would call me personally. I had expected it to be some assistant- the fussy kind who never know all the facts and has to bumble through the conversation and call me back later when they actually know what is going on.

"Yeah," I reply. I know what is going to come. It is all too painfully obvious.

"How is Annie?" A loaded question, but not one they won't already know the answer to. I don't want to make this too easy for him by telling him she is doing great. It's not the truth, anyway.

"Managing."

He draws in a deep breath. I already know what he is going to say, even before he does. "Do you think she will be ready for the victory tour?"

It must be almost time- almost six months has passed since the Games- but they have waited until the last minute to ask, hoping that everything will be fine. Of course we both know that it doesn't really matter- the Capitol demands that Victors go on a Victory Tour, therefore she will go. It is one of the prices you have to pay to stay alive.

"Depends what you call ready."

He clucks is tongue, thinking it over. "Is she going to make a scene?"

"I couldn't make promises either way." If something triggers an unwanted memory then that's it, there is little we can do about it.

There is a long pause as he considers the situation, then he sighs. "We need this to go ahead. The publicity is necessary after the bad press from before. It put a bit of a downer on the whole thing. It was supposed to be a celebration."

Another pause.

I leave him hanging. As I said, I don't want to make this situation easy for him. If I had my way then Annie wouldn't have to go on the victory tour at all. It's the last thing she needs and, truth be told, I'm not too thrilled about having to return to the Capitol either. Things are starting to become comfortable here. It is beginning to feel like home again.

"What about…." The thought obviously overtakes his speech as he pauses again. "Yes! Yes, what if this time we make it all about you?"

"Um… actually they already did that. It was called the 65th Hunger Games Victory tour."

"No- Your mentoring success. That's what we will focus on. She will be there, of course, but in order to minimalize _scenes_ you will take the lead, after all, your public loves you."

"You don't think that will seem a little transparent?"

"It is better than having to cancel the tour. The Capitol grows weary. There has been no word from our latest victor. We need to show them that she fine- it is important for them to realise that what happened after the Games was just a temporary blip."

"I see."

"So I am relying on you to make this possible- you understand?"

Of course I understand. It is always the same in the Capitol. It always has to be their way or you face the consequences and I have already had more than my fair share of consequences.

"Sure," I tell him.

"It has all been arranged for the end of the week, I will tell everyone involved that it will go ahead as usual. I hope Annie has a talent prepared." He doesn't wait for me to reply before hanging up the phone.

* * *

><p>Running a little late I take the stairs two at a time. I grab some juice and pull open the curtains in the study. A group of eager and restless people stand outside Annie's house. Some stand on tiptoes trying to peer through the curtains, others stand with their arms crossed across their chests, rolling their eyes as they talk about nothing. Among them I vaguely recognise Annie's stylist and prep team, who are looking particularly out of place stood on the sandy pathway that runs through the Victors' village.<p>

Setting my glass down on the table I head outside to find out what is going on. As soon as they see me the assembled group begins to crowd round, bombarding me with numerous questions. Without really addressing them, I tell them to wait where they are, vaguely muttering that I will find out what is going on. As I head round the back of the house a few of them begin to follow me but I usher them away. I tell them I will be with them shortly. A few cameras flash. Personally I didn't see this as an ideal photo opportunity but someone just got a great shot of my arse.

As soon as I am out of their sight I pick up my pace and barge through the back door. "Annie!?" I call. "Annie?"

Running from room to room I can see that there is no sign of her. I take the stairs three at a time, still calling out her name. She has to be here somewhere, she has to be. There is nowhere else that she could have gone to. We would have noticed if she had left the house.

I go to her bedroom first but her bed is empty- the bedspread impossibly neat, the sheets tucked in at the corners. I am about to leave when I notice a sheet of paper left on her bedside table. I instantly decide that it is a letter from her- some sort of explanation for where she has gone- isn't it funny how the mind always jumps to such conclusions? Yet when I get there I find that it is a list of names. Twenty-three names. My eyes are instantly drawn to the seventh name on the list; Eoghan Cresta. What was running through her head when she wrote this?

I take a step backwards towards the door, still glancing down the list of names listed in order of District. I am just about to turn and leave when something grips hold of my ankle. My whole body jolts in shock and I look down at a row of long thin fingers holding me like a vice, reaching out from beneath the bed.

"Annie?"

I kneel down and she releases her hold. I have to stoop my head almost to the ground before I can see her. She is lying on her side, her shoulder pushed against the underside of the mattress, her head resting on her hands, her hair falling across her face. I spread myself out across the floor facing her, my hand reaching out towards her, inviting her to take it, and I wait for her to speak.

She takes my hand, running her fingers across my palm. She spends a moment just looking at it, studying the fine lines in great detail so when she finally speaks I wonder for a second if it is about my hand or the situation. "There are so many of them."

"I know."

"And there are going to be more," she continues in a small voice. "I don't know what they want."

"They want to give you clothes to wear and to style your hair and take some photos."

"What could they possibly want with me? Who am I to them?"

Something sticks in my throat then because about a hundred answers pop into my head but none of them are pretty. I suppose, like the rest of them- the rest of us, she is a novelty. There is something intriguing about people who get out of the arena alive- it is not that our story is more worthy than those who died; it is just that ours have been allowed to continue. I suppose, to someone who hadn't experienced it, facing the arena has its own sort of romance.

"You'll be free after this," I tell her, and I silently pray that it is true.

To my surprise it is that line which makes her cry.

She grips my hand a little tighter and pulls it in closer to her so my shoulder is pressed tightly against the bottom of the bed. It hurts a little but I don't pull back.

"It's going to be alright, I promise." I am not in the business of making promises I can't keep but with Annie I feel as though I have to promise her the impossible. I guess, now that I've said it, I will have to make it so.

She rolls over onto her front, placing her forehead on the carpet so I can no longer see her expression. "I'm scared."

For a long time I don't know what to say to try and give her courage but eventually it comes to me. I remember a scared little boy who sat on a beach while a girl told him a story and suddenly the words begin to form.

"When Dylan was still very young- nothing more than a boy- before he had even heard of the monster, a terrible storm hit his home town, destroying many of the boats- both those in the docks and those that were out fishing for the rare Lumina trout that only come out at night. Many sailors died leaving half the town in mourning."

Part fairy tale, part truth, the words gradually begin to form. Part of me wonders if someone had told me this story before but if they did I can't say who. Yet the words form so easily it is difficult to believe that it isn't familiar. I can tell I have Annie's attention, though, as her head tilts slowly to the side.

"On the second night the storm returned and more boats were lost, more sailors disappeared beneath the waves, more black covered the market town. On the third night, as the kind old fisherman that cared for Dylan prepared his nets for the next day the same dark clouds from before returned. For a moment they just stood and watched the sea and the whirl of sky until suddenly a bright light whooshed up into the sky- a flare!

"'One of the lost sailors must still be out there' the old fisherman said, rushing towards his boat.

"Dylan grabbed his arm, 'Please don't go,' he begged him. 'Please, else the storm will take you too.'

"But the fisherman said he had to go and he marched off down the beach and Dylan saw him sail off into the night. Dylan didn't sleep that night because he was so afraid- the hours ticked by like days. He stared out to sea, hoping to get a glimpse of the little boat, but he saw nothing. There was no sign of the old fisherman at all and the storm still raged on.

"Dylan kept his eyes open as long as he could but he must have dozed off as the next thing he knew he was being woken by the fisherman. He was pleased to see his father back safe and he was even happier when he heard that some sailors had also been saved. After the fisherman had told his story one questions still burned in Dylan's mind; 'how come you were not afraid to sail out into the storm when you knew it could be the last thing you ever did?'

"The fisherman smiled and simply said, 'I was terrified but there will be times when you realise that some things are more important than fear. My father once told me that courage is not the absence of fear but rather the ability to go on _in spite _of that fear.'

"These words stuck with Dylan throughout all his future heroics and anytime he felt a pang of fear in his heart he told himself this story and somehow he could find the courage to keep going."

By now Annie is facing me, her watery eyes meet mine and she forces herself to smile. I don't know if it is the message of the story or simply that it reminded her of her mother, but she quietly thanks me.

"Do you think you are ready to come out now?"

She nods and crawls out from under the bed on the far side while I get to my feet. We meet each other at the end of the bed and I tuck her under my arm.

"I just hope it doesn't all become real again" she says as we walk together out to face them and somehow I know exactly what she means.


	81. Chapter 81

Neither of us quite believe me when I tell her, "It'll be fine and it will be over before you know it."

Her eyes focus on a point beyond me, I glance over my shoulder but, as usual, nothing is there. She hasn't said one thing all day- not a single word. She has just disappeared inside herself she is always watching things that nobody else can see, lost in a world of her own. Maybe it is better this way, maybe it will somehow numb the pain for her. Yet, at the same time, I desperately wish she was really by my side.

I wonder if District 12 still remembers me as the boy who killed their tribute. Somewhere out in that crowd her family must still be standing, watching me, hating me and they have every reason to. I try not to think about my Games too much but it is impossible to forget the guilt, especially when everything reminds me. Maybe I'll have a drink with Haymitch later and disappear into a drunken haze.

An attendant attaches a microphone to my collar and I put the battery pack into my jacket pocket. Annie stands passively as they clip hers to her sash. In her left hand she crushes the card with her speech on; rolling into a tight tube and unrolling it again. Cracks have appeared across the shiny cardboard.

I smile at her but still she doesn't look at me, even though my mind screams for her to do so. Look at me! Listen to me! Let me help you! Help me to forget!

She looks like you'd expect a victor to look. Her dress is lace and the colour of pale gold, soft, feminine and oh-so-delicate. I don't know if that's the fashion in the Capitol at the moment or if it is meant to serve another purpose. All it seems to do is make her look fragile. I hadn't realised she had lost so much weight.

When the attendants move away I take her hand and lead her to the side, just far enough away from everyone else that they won't be able to hear.

"Annie?" I say, keeping my voice soft and low. Finally she looks at me. "Do you know what's going on?"

She nods and her eyes drift away from mine again.

"Annie? You need to stay here, just for a moment, OK? Stay here with me," I sound almost desperate. Looking after Annie is my only distraction. She turns back and this time she doesn't look away. "There are going to be a lot of people out there but all I want you to think about is that I'm going to be right next to you. Try not to think about them. Just read what it says on the card- that's all they want from you. Nothing bad is going to happen." The words are as much for me as they are for her.

Someone taps me on the shoulder, "They are ready for you now."

"Just stay with me, Annie," I whisper into her ear. She gives me a small smile and the pair of us step out of the doors of District Twelve's justice building onto the platform they have set up for the tour. The day is grey and murky and the sun hangs low in the sky, casting low shadows over the crowd. I feel a little cruel when I have to let go of Annie's hand. Again I talk to her inside my head. I am here for you. I am going to make sure everything is all right.

There is polite applause for us broken quickly when their mayor gives his traditional congratulatory speech. I paste on my usual grin and pretend like mentors always step out onto the platform with their victors. Mags should have been here with us- she helped Annie just as much as I did- if not more- but the form says Annie is my victor so I am the only one who is allowed. I try not to look out at the crowd.

Annie never takes her eyes off me. Even when it is her turn to speak she never once turns out to face the crowd. Her voice is small, even when magnified across the speaker system, as though it is being stretched thinly over a large area. She takes it slowly, pronouncing each word as though she has never seen it before. She seems cold and disconnected but she is speaking. She keeps it up until the final word and then, as if she has lost all energy, she slips away again smiling off into the distance. I wish I could disappear so easily.

Now she has finished it is my cue to take over. I have notes written on a card but I have rehearsed what I want to say so many times that I know I won't need it. I glance around the crowd, making sure my eyes make contact with several different people from different areas, although I try not to look too hard, and then I begin.

"It is unusual for a mentor to speak on a victory tour but I was very keen to speak for Annie today. As is the case each year, the past six months have been some of the hardest we have had to face. No matter which tribute wins every district has to come to terms with the loss of some of their bravest and most loved young people. Looking out into the crowds today I see the great loss that you have all faced this year." I glance across at the grieving families, most have their faces bowed. "In District Four it is no different. Even as Annie celebrates her great victory she must also face the devastating loss of her brother. Unlike any victor who came before, she understands the terrible sacrifice that has been made in order for her to live.

"She would have liked to have said these words herself, but I am sure you understand how hard it would be for her to share these sentiments. Therefore, it is left for me to say- we are sorry for your great loss, we understand how nothing could ever replace your lost children and how no condolences are ever enough. So, although today we celebrate Annie on her victory, let us also salute those we have lost: Bateman, Lily and Eoghan!"

When the salute is over I glance again at Annie. No longer, caught in a trance, she is looking over at the families of the tributes who died. She is giving one woman a really strange look, as if she recognises her. I don't quite know what to make of it. The woman stands completely alone- the tribute must have been her only family. Slowly she looks up, her gaze meeting Annie's, tears filling up her eyes. There is no anger there like you sometimes see, just complete and utter loss.

Some attendants begin to usher us off the stage and everyone claps politely but Annie doesn't move. I take her by the arm and try to direct her away but she holds her ground.

"I didn't want to do it!" She shouts to the woman - for once her voice is loud and clear. "I didn't want to kill anybody. I didn't mean to take her from you." She tries to say more but she breaks down into sobs as I half lead, half pull her from the platform.

The clapping dies out before we get through the doors of the justice building and is replaced by an eerie silence as I try to lead Annie away.

I had forgotten that it was the girl from twelve that the careers made her kill. During the Games it hadn't seemed important to remember- I was too worried about trying to keep Annie and Eoghan alive but I should have been prepared for today. I have been spending too much time worrying about myself and not enough time thinking about Annie.

In the foyer everyone steps forward to try and help but I push by them into a small room with a velvet sofa which is probably the place where tributes say goodbye to their loved ones. I sit Annie down next to me and she falls into my arms.

"I killed that woman's child," She sobs.

"You didn't want to. The others made you do it."

"That doesn't change anything. I still did it. She looked after her, cared for her, loved her for all those years- who am I to just take her away like that?"

"Someone else would have done it if you hadn't. It's the Hunger Games. It's what happens."

She shakes her head. "Why are they making me do this? Do they just want to watch me suffer?"

That's the thing- they say that Annie is mad, that she lost it because of the Games, but everything she says, everything she does, is just what every other victor has thought and felt before. The way she reacts is how all of us should react. Annie is just no good at hiding the truth.

"Yes, it is." I tell her. She stops crying and she stares at me. I guess it is not the answer she was expecting but I am so fed up with having to lie and pretend things are alright when they are not. I am fed up with the guilt and the worry and the sorrow and their manipulation. There are probably microphones in this room. Pontius Tumblewell will be there listening to everything we say. They will have words with me when I reach the Capitol but what is there left for them to do? Snow already knows about my involvement with the Praetorians, would anything else surprise him at this stage?

"I'm not going to lie to you;" I continue. "The truth is that you are just going to have to live with this horrible feeling for the rest of your life. Nothing can make it better. You could give that woman everything you have and still you wouldn't feel better about it. It's hard living with the truth- hard knowing that you are the worst kind of person imaginable but I think it is meant to be hard. It wouldn't be fair if it was easy."

I know she heard every word because she is looking right into my eyes. She wipes her tears away as her forehead creases into a deep frown, "You're not one of the worst people imaginable."

"After everything I've done I find that hard to believe." I have known it for a long time now. I have killed and not cared, I have let people use me and manipulate me, I have acted solely for my own gain, I have enjoyed finery and splendour while other people starved. I have encouraged people to fawn over me, forced them to believe in me, do as I say. I got my best friend killed. I got my parents killed. I killed my district partner. There is no end to my list.

"You're not one of the worst people imaginable." She says again.

"Don't fall into the same trap as everyone else does: just because I look half-way presentable it doesn't make me a good person."

"You are more beautiful on the inside than you could ever be outwardly."

I can't believe that but I can tell by the look on Annie's face that she does. "Anyway," I tell her, "I thought this tour was meant to be about you, not me."

She shakes her head, "It's always about me recently. It's nice to know I'm not the only person who can have a meltdown."

"I didn't have a meltdown."

She smiles, properly smiles.

"I didn't have a meltdown." It was just a hiccup at most.

She sits up straight and scrambles to her feet. "I think we should go join everyone else now."

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah." She takes in a deep and wobbly breath that makes me think that she probably won't be fine but she forces a smile onto her face. "I mean, if you can handle it, I can too, right?"

"Right."


	82. Chapter 82

Things go smoothly until the night we leave District 9- when the nightmares begin.

Her screams rattle my dreams and I wake up sweaty, my head still clouded from the alcohol at the party. I stumble out of bed and along the train, knocking against the walls as I struggle to keep my balance.

Augustus appears in his doorway. "Some of us are trying to sleep," he says sniffily.

I ignore him and keep going along the train. I fall through her door and throw myself down onto her bed, dragging her still sleeping into my arms.

"Annie, Annie wake up," I whisper.

She fights me as she gains consciousness and I almost lose my hold but I don't let go, though the bottle I didn't realise I was holding slips out of my hand onto the floor, landing upright by the side of the bed.

Her eyelids flicker and slowly open, and she looks up into my face. Awake but still dreaming, she cries out. "Don't make me go back! Please don't make me go back!"

I shake her shoulders but she just falls about like a rag doll, crying and spluttering. "Listen to me, listen to me," I tell her- the words sound strange, as if someone else is saying them- slurred and warped. Still holding Annie I bend down the side of the bed, watching the walls lurch and roll around me and I reach for the bottle.

I press it to her lips and she drinks it without questioning, grimacing as the sour taste hits her tongue. Some of it dribbles down her chin so I pull it away and take my own share, enjoying how it burns all the way down my throat.

Her head rolls back onto my shoulder, "I thought you'd died," she whispers and her face crumples.

"No, I'm still here," I tell her, even though all the weight has disappeared from my body. I feel as though I am floating above the bed- impossibly light. I tip the bottle up against her mouth again and she begins to choke, spitting the stuff all over the bed sheets.

"You're drunk!" she says, laughing at me, despite the tears falling down her face. Then her face grows serious again, "Will it make it go away?" She wraps her fingers around the bottle, pulling it away from me, desperate for it.

"I don't know, I don't know…" staring into the darkness I see more than I ever do when sober.

She drinks, no; she drowns herself until she is gasping for air.

"Tell me what you see," I demand. I want to know if she sees what I see- if somehow our nightmares are the same.

She clambers to her feet, reaching up to the low ceiling to steady herself as the mattress dips and moves beneath her.

"I see everything! The water bursts through the walls and it is filling up the room- spilling through the panelling. It's like a trickle and a gush and it is everywhere, rising up and up and up." She stumbles, almost losing her balance on the bed. "We'll have to swim to get away- they'll keep us swimming until we slip away. The bubbles will lift up through the water, bursting on the surface and everything swishes about and it's all around us." She grabs hold of my hand, pulling me to my feet as well. I almost hit my head on the ceiling. "If you hold my hand then I won't lose you."

She holds my hand and I hold her, pressing her to me because I never want to let go.

* * *

><p>We wake up the next morning, heads throbbing, tangled in each other's arms, but both fully dressed. Somehow we bumble through the next day in District Eight. The strong smell of chemicals that spews into the air every minute from the factories makes me feel dizzy and we look a mess but we make it without any major blunders.<p>

We don't talk about the nightmares or the drinking.

I don't get to sleep before Annie is screaming again.

* * *

><p>In District 7 everything feels like a dream. Everything works on autopilot. Everything is seen through a numb haze. People say things and I'm not sure if I have replied or not.<p>

I am stood out in the middle of the stage, faced with a whole district of lumberjacks when suddenly I realise that although Annie is standing with her card in her hand she hasn't read anything. The silence is suddenly endless and unforgiving. Jolting myself back to reality I wonder how long we have stood here. How long have they stared at us? Then, somehow, I find my voice and deliver both Annie's and my part of the speech to a puzzled crowd.

Annie remains mute throughout the meal and even afterwards when I introduce her to the victors. Not a single word. She doesn't even really look at what's in front of her. It is as if she is trying to pass through District 7 without creating a single memory of it.

As the evening draws on, I find myself outside, leant up against the justice building, staring out at the snow while Johanna tells me about something I don't hear.

"Finnick? Are you high?"

"No." I pull my jacket tighter around myself. Since when did it get so cold?

"So what's the deal?"

"What do you mean?"

She raises a single eyebrow. I know exactly what she means.

"Just, you know… going back."

"But you're free now."

"For now." I shrug.

"Are you going to be a dick and do something noble?" She knows me too well but I really don't want to talk about it so I jump down off the steps into the deep snow, "Come on!" I call to Johanna.

Before she has even made it down the steps I throw a snowball at her. It lands smack on the side of her face. For a moment she is shocked, and then the shock turns to anger. "I'll get you for that, Odair!" She shouts as I run for the shelter of the trees.

She falls over her long dress; her bare arms seem to almost glow in the moonlight. She must be freezing. Yet, regardless, she follows me into the fray.

By the time I have made my third snowball my hands have turned into blocks of ice but I don't care. We zigzag through the glistening mounds, chasing each other round and round the trees, getting lost in the shadows. I spring out on Johanna only to get a face full of Snow.

For a while it is as if there is no one else there in the whole of District 7. Our cheeks turn red with the cold and our breath rises in icy plumes around us and our laughter cuts through the silence.

I'm exhausted. I haven't slept in what feels like years. There are a million people I am supposed to be with- a million more important places I should be but right now I need to be right here.

The pair of us fall backwards into the snow, letting it soak into our already drenched clothes.

"Idiot," Johanna says, hitting me across my chest. "Look at me!" her teeth are chattering. Earlier in the evening she had been the vision of sophistication and now… not so much.

As I glance across at the justice building I notice that Annie is stood in the doorway watching us. Before our eyes can meet she goes back inside.

* * *

><p>I am not woken that night by Annie's nightmares and I stay up later than I should wondering why.<p>

Annie comes into my room about two in the morning, finally bringing an end to my speculation. She sits down at the end of my bed and looks me very seriously in the eye. Still she says nothing but what she means is written all over her face.

"She's one of my best friends, nothing more."

"I wasn't going to ask." She says quietly- the first words I have heard from her in over a day.

"Then what were you going to say?"

"It was nice to see you happy. I think sometimes you forget to be."

She sits and watches me a while, running her fingers through my hair. I can feel my eyes begin to droop a little and I can't help but yawn in spite of everything. Everything feels so comfortable…

"What about you and Hake?" It just comes out my mouth in that moment of sleepiness, half hidden in a yawn I wonder at first if she has heard it.

She shakes her head, "No."

"No what?"

"You don't get to ask me that. Not now."

"What do you mean?"

"You are always changing your mind and messing with me."

"I'm not."

"You are. You hurt me before because you said we couldn't be together then suddenly, because I'm with Hake, you're interested again. Then before the Games I thought we were something but on the way home you pushed me away again. I get it: you thought I was going to die- you wanted me to feel alright about it. It was sweet of you to pretend but now I would rather you stopped. It just makes everything difficult. I never know where I am with you."

It is a moment of cruel sanity. In the depths of madness Annie would never say it.

"I never pretended. It has always been you. I love-"

"No!" she presses her hands against her ears. "Don't you dare say that!" She gets to her feet and begins to sidle towards the door trying to get away from me as fast as she can.

I get to my feet as well. I try to block the door before she can get through it but she is already halfway out.

If I told her everything would she stay? Would that make her understand how difficult it is for me to be in love?

"Don't say anything." She says. "I'm sorry, Fin. I wish I could- I really do but I want someone I know is still going to be there tomorrow."

And she slips away.

* * *

><p>The next few days she acts as though the conversation never happened but I know it did and I know she meant it.<p>

Still, every night I hear her calling out in pain I go to her and hold her, though her words still echo round my head. I suppose part of me hopes that if I keep coming back she'll start to realise that I plan on sticking around. We are always like passing ships; never in the same place at the same time.

The morning we arrive in District 2 I find her sat on her bed surrounded by little pieces of paper. She has torn her speech cards into tiny pieces and has begun to rearrange the words.

"Annie, it's time to go." I try to sound casual, as if everything is perfectly normal.

She signals for me to leave, still bent over her work. "Shhh!"

"What are you doing?"

"Did you know there are messages in here?"

"What messages?"

"From Furia." She nudges some of the paper, shuffling some more of the words. She looks up, "She's angry with me."

"She's not, Annie." I take a step towards her but she raises her arms in front of her face as though I might strike her.

"I can't go."

"Furia can't do anything. She's dead."

"She's not dead! She killed Eoghan! I can't see her again, I can't I can't!"

Her face is bright red and she is rocking back and forth, running her hands through her hair. There is no way I will be able to persuade her to go before the ceremony is due to start. She is too worked up, too upset, too scared. I try to get close to her but she screams until I back up against the door again.

"All right," I tell her, "You don't have to go."

So I face District Two alone. So I thank them for their sacrifice and accept their congratulations and offer my condolences but all I can think of is that moment when Eoghan's head parted from his neck. It is heart-breaking agony.

I would not have done this for anyone else in the world but because it is her, because it's Annie, I do and I would again. Today and the day after and all the days that follow after that.


	83. Chapter 83

I try not to draw attention to it but I notice Blasius as soon as we get into the ballroom. He lurks like a spider ready for his prey to be caught in his web. Annie clings to my arm, nervous about the hordes of people who flutter around us like demented butterflies.

"You need to let go," I tell her in a low whisper. It is, perhaps, uncharitable but since it was her who rejected me I think I should be allowed a moment to push her aside, even if it is my job to look after her and she is in a delicate state of mind… from the moment she lets go I regret saying it. I want to feel her next to me again, I want the assurance of knowing where she is, that she is alright but it is too late for that. Both of us are swallowed up in the crowds who are clamouring to congratulate us and to finally see the latest victor up close. The mystery that surrounded Annie has only made her seem more appealing, somehow. I suppose it does make her something of a novelty.

I watch her as she stands staring at them in alarm as the cameras flash around her and she lifts her hands up to cover her ears, shouting something that is inaudible over the ruckus that surrounds her. I step towards the group, intending to pull her away- to take her anywhere but here- to save her- to prove to her how good we would be together- but as I move closer someone takes hold of my hand and pulls me in the opposite direction.

"You must be dying to see her," a woman coos- I vaguely recognise her- I think I must have seen her in the President's mansion at some point. "Young lovers reunited!" she says pushing me over to a deserted seating area.

"Wha-?" I turn around but the woman has already left us. When I look back at the seats things suddenly make sense. "Alba."

She is sat back in a chair with a drink in her hand- casual, calm and so unsuited to the rest of the party. "You must hate this," she says. No greeting, just that.

I turn again, trying to see Annie but she is still immersed in the crowd. Quickly I glance to where I saw Blasius leant against the wall, thankfully he is still there. She is safe from the predator even if she is being tormented by the rest of them.

"Yeah. Well, you know… it's a real ball."

She gets to her feet and kisses my cheek. I guess this is Snow's way of telling me we are continuing with this charade. I haven't heard from her since we left, though. Probably because I didn't give her my number.

"Are you staying in the Capitol for long?"

"No, only as long as I have to."

"Oh." She actually looks slightly disappointed. She reaches into her bag and takes out a book, "I thought I would lend you this."

She holds it out to me and reluctantly I take it, turning it over in my hand I look for the title but the front cover is completely blank, "What is it?"

"It's The Picture of Dorian Gray- it's about a man who sells his soul so he can always be young and beautiful. His soul is captured within a portrait instead. For every sin he commits the portrait changes becoming old or disfigured in some way, even though Dorian himself never changes. It reflects his soul, see."

"And you are wondering where my portrait is- is that it?" I almost shiver thinking of what my own portrait would look like if it reflected my soul.

"I wouldn't be surprised if there has been some soul selling going on," she smiles, "But seriously, it's a good read and I thought you might appreciate something different."

"Thanks."

A man with a camera rushes across to us and gestures us in to move closer, taking several pictures that will no doubt be in the papers tomorrow 'proving' that we are still an item.

"So have you been up to much since you left?" she asks me.

"Just the usual things- fishing, writing, getting a tan, swimming. How about you?"

"Writing mostly. It's a lonely business if you ask me but I can't stop myself from doing it."

"No, me neither."

As nice as it is talking to Alba I can't help but turn round to see what Annie is doing. She is the reason I am here. I should be looking after her. I knew it would be difficult in the Capitol- I have a habitof being swept away by everything.

It takes me a while to spot her because she has moved from the place I left her. She is sat in the corner on the other side of the ballroom, her hands still firmly pressed over her ears. I can just make her out through the legs of those surrounding her. No one tries to help, they just stand and watch and take pictures and gossip. She looks like a small child.

"I'm sorry but I have to-" I gesture vaguely in Annie's direction.

"No problem."

"Thanks for the book, though."

She smiles, sipping her drink before pulling a notebook from her purse and scribbling down a few notes.

As I walk towards Annie I notice she has got to her feet. Someone is stood by her side, talking to her. As I push my way through it is a while before I get a clear view and when I do anger jumps up into my throat.

"Blasius," I say, "May I have a word with you- alone."

"It's alright, Fin," Annie says dreamily, her eyes are still full of tears "he was just helping me up." She hasn't a clue about who he is or what he wants.

"We were just going to go for a little _chat." _Blasius says with a sarcastic sort of grin. If Annie even hears what he says she seems blissfully unaware of the malice in his voice.

"Blasius, I need to talk to you," I repeat, no longer able to disguise my anger.

I take Annie by the arm and half walk, half drag her over to the chairs where Alba is sat, leaving Blasius behind us.

"What are you doing?" Annie hisses.

I take a drink from the waiter's tray and hand it to her, "I'm sorry," I say. "I can't sit with you. I need to sort something out. You just stay here, alright?"

"Fin?"

"Say you are going to stay here!" I don't mean to shout at her but I can still see Blasius out the corner of my eye and I can't hold it back.

"I'll stay," she says.

I turn to Alba, "Watch her."

For once no one steps in my way, no one asks me to pose for a picture or congratulates me, for once it seems the vultures have an ounce of sensitivity.

"I'm not going anywhere alone with you," Blasius says, no doubt remembering the last time we were together when I beat him senseless.

"That's all right," I tell him, "I want to talk to the boss."

He doesn't argue. I suspect that Snow had anticipated this; I suspect that I am just playing into his hands. I challenged him to give me something- someone to care about- and now I do all it means is that I am vulnerable again. However, despite what Johanna or any of the rest of them might say, it is not better to be invulnerable. Any of them- all of them- would give up the feeling of security to have those they love back again. I know they would. I would- a thousand times over. It just happens that I am fortunate enough to be given another chance to love someone. Of course I am going to take it- even if she doesn't want me- yet.

Snow is in his office- presumably he is waiting for us. When we walk in he sits up in his chair and puts the book he was reading aside. I don't have a chance to catch the title. I become vaguely aware that I am still holding the picture of Dorian Gray so I place it down on one of the chairs at the side of the room.

"Ah, Mr Odair, I presume there is something that you wish to discuss with me?" he turns to Blasius, "You may leave us, I will call you back in briefly so don't go too far."

Blasius nods, "I will be just outside." Listening through the keyhole, no doubt, but at least he won't be with Annie.

I decide to take my opportunity while my anger still holds so Blasius has barely left the room when I turn to Snow, "I would like to make you a proposition."

"Does this pertain to the beautiful Miss Cresta, by any chance?"

"Yes. The truth is that I don't think you should be offering her to people. It isn't fair. She is fragile. It would be too much."

He adjusts in his seat; it is as if he is trying to find the most intimidating position possible. "Then how do you propose that she will repay her debt? She is fragile, Mr Odair, but she is alive."

"Cut the rubbish," I tell him. "You know what I am proposing."

"You offer yourself in exchange for Miss Cresta?"

"I do. But that means you don't play any Games with her- she is left alone, alright? You hear me- nothing. When she returns to District 4 at the end of the Victory tour she is going to stay there and she is going to get stronger and be happy- you understand?"

"You have made your point perfectly clear. It is very _noble _of you."

I choose to ignore the way he says noble- as though it is something revolting that has slithered down his nose and onto his tongue. I turn my back on him, deciding that, after saying my bit, I ought to leave.

"Mr Odair?"

I turn back to face him.

"Don't you think you ought to get to work? Would you mind calling Blasius back in?"

When I open the door Blasius almost falls inside but he composes himself before he steps in front of Snow.

"Mr Odair is keen to return to work- have you any engagements lined up for him?"

Blasius gets out some sort of electronic device and begins searching through it for some sort of record that he must keep. When he looks up he has a particularly nasty grin on his face. "Cardea Wanless was keen to make an arrangement. I will call her with the details. How long is Mr Odair staying with us?"

"Only until tomorrow- as previously arranged." I interject before either of them can decide for me.

"Come now," President Snow says, "That hardly seems fair. We have to make up for lost time. At least stay until the end of the month."

That would involve staying in the Capitol for two weeks. "What about the celebration back in District 4?"

"I am sure it can be postponed. The arrangements will be easy enough to manage."

The problem is that I really don't have a choice. I know where disagreeing with the President gets me.

"I will make the arrangements," Blasius says, disappearing into the hallway to make a phone call.

Within a few minutes the deal is sealed and I can't turn back. I am going on a date with Cardea Wanless. No Finnick, get it right, I am going to be whored out to Cardea Wanless. It is worth it, though, I tell myself, it is worth it to keep her safe. Maybe, in some small way, this makes up for the Games. After all, she wouldn't have been chosen if it weren't for me. Eoghan would still be alive if it weren't for me.

As I go back to the party my head is full of a hundred different encounters. I almost jump out of my skin when someone touches my arm but I nudge them off me and keep going, heading for Annie because I want to see my reason for putting myself through this.

Alba and Annie aren't talking. Alba is writing in her notebook and Annie is wrapping a lose thread from her dress round and round her finger. She winds it tighter and tighter and doesn't seem to notice that it is turning red.

"Annie?"

She looks up but doesn't release her finger. "I thought you'd left," she says.

I shake my head, "I wouldn't leave. You know I wouldn't."

She doesn't reply. She is looking down at her finger. "I can do it, Eoghan!" she hisses as she begins to unwind it again. As her finger begins to turn back to normal she catches my eye. She looks almost afraid as she glances back to Eoghan again. "I'm sorry," she says.

She sees Eoghan all the time, I know that, but somehow when she acknowledges him it always feels like defeat- as though I haven't been doing my job properly. She shouldn't have to talk to Eoghan when I'm there.

"I think we should call it a night," I tell her. I offer her my hand and pull her to her feet. I glance across at Alba, "Goodnight," I tell her.

"Night," she replies, not even looking up from her notebook. That's when I realise I left The Picture of Dorian Gray in the president's office but there is no way I am going to go back there now. At least Alba will get it back.

I lhave only led Annie a single step away from the seating area when someone throws their arms around the back of my neck. "Finnick!" she screeches into my ear.

"Cardea," I manage weakly.

"I can't wait for our date," she says, giving Annie a glare as she pulls me away.

As I'm dragged onto the dance floor I watch Annie and her expression. At first she seems surprised but it soon turns to a sort of anger. Her mouth falls open in annoyance as Cardea and I begin to dance. I guess she isn't as indifferent to me as she claimed. I know jealousy when I see it.


	84. Chapter 84

When I open my eyes it takes a long time before I can focus. When I do I find I am staring up at some cheap ceiling tiles, the kind you see at low-priced hotels in sleazy neighbourhoods. My temples throb, gripping the sides of my head tightly in a vice-like hold.

I try to move but when I do I find that my whole body has ceased up, so I stay put. The air is thick with the stench of sweat, alcohol, semen and something else I can't quite place.

I don't know where I am or how long I have been here. Every time I try to remember I find an impenetrable wall that I can't breach. What's the last thing I remember?

The first night with Cardea- leaving the party- the deal with Snow. It had been bearable. She treated me like an old friend. A friend you pay an extortionate amount of money to at the end of a night. She was sickeningly sweet, clingy, showily seductive and dull but at least I knew what to expect.

What then? I went back to the apartment around 11am- exhausted from a lack of sleep, stinking of her perfume- my skin covered in a layer of filth that I couldn't quite wash away no matter how hard I scrubbed.

I remember hearing Annie in the adjoining room but I didn't go to her, instead I hid in my room. I avoided her by sleeping away the rest of the day. I woke at 7pm- showered- crept into the kitchen and grabbed some food- still avoided Annie. Then I checked my phone…

I roll onto my side and the bed creaks beneath me, springs sagging. A sharp pain shoots up my side starting in my legs then travelling all the way up my side. A new smell hits me- urine. Frantically I search the floor with my eyes, looking for my clothes. If I can find my phone at least I might be able to work out where I am.

My trousers are strewn by the door, too far away for me to reach from the bed. Slowly, carefully, I push myself up trying to ignore the increase in pressure that crushes my head. There is not a part of my body that doesn't hurt but I force myself to move. I lean out to grab my trousers but I fall onto the floor. Still, I have come this far, I need to get that phone. I crawl like a small child- completely naked- and reach into my pocket. My phone is there. I scroll through the messages until I find what I am looking for.

_Consus Delore. 10pm Janus Arms, Runcorn Street- 'Don't dress up'. _

That's it. A name, a time, a place.

I try to picture what he looked like but I can't. I try to remember what happened but I haven't a clue. I need to get out of here.

The room is littered with the spoils of last night. Clothes are scattered everywhere, empty bottles, used condoms. I crawl across the floor, gathering things that resemble my own. I don't know where Consus is- from the look of things, whoever he is, he must have walked out of this place as naked as I am now. But that can't be right. He must have other clothes. Other places to be.

When I crawl round the end of the bed I see a pool of blood that has seeped into the tawny carpet, sticking the fibres together in a hard clump. Part of me is sure that the blood is my own although I don't know why.

I force myself to keep moving, to get dressed, to keep thinking, to keep trying to remember. Consus Delore. Where have I heard that name before?

I can't stand upright- the slightest pull on my muscles and it feels like my side might rip open. I hobble round the room, checking it one last time to make sure I haven't left anything else behind, but I see nothing of mine and no clues about the mysterious Consus.

I open the door and step into the bathroom. I take a couple of steps and I notice a mark on the wallpaper where my head hit the wall. When I touch my scalp I find the bump to prove it. I was so drunk. It was like nothing I had felt before… it happened so fast. I don't even remember drinking. The walls seem to shiver around me and I struggle to keep my balance. I try to stay up but my legs just collapse beneath me and suddenly I am on the tiles, knelt down by the toilet, head bent, staring down into the clump of soaked toilet tissue in the bottom of the bowl.

Why don't I remember? Why does everything hurt so much? I begin testing every bone, every muscle, judging them one by one, finding the places where my skin is swollen, where cuts have appeared overnight, the bruises, the tears, the string of burns that run up the inside of my arm. There is nothing on my face. He must have purposely avoided it to evade media attention. This face is too well known to not be recognised; even when it is thumped to a pulp.

I see his looming face over me- his features vague he is nothing more in my mind than a sadistic grin with a cigarette balanced in the corner of his mouth. My whole body jerks backwards as I think about him and through my clouded memory I feel his fists slamming into my side.

He beat me. The bastard beat me. How is he still alive? I would have pommelled him shitless. I would have fought to the end; I would have done anything and everything to get out of there, whether me and Snow had an agreement or not. I did not survive the Hunger Games just to get beaten by some psycho.

My head swoops again. This isn't right. I didn't drink that much. If you drink on the job anything can happen. Looks like anything did. There is something more to this.

I pull myself back up, holding onto the sink for support. I need to get out of here before the bastard gets back. No… maybe I should stay- he has to come back sometime, he still has clothes here- I could stay and get him like he got me. I let go of the sink and almost fall back down onto the floor. Maybe payback will have to wait.

Somehow I drag myself out of that place and into a taxi. Somehow I lie my way through the taxi driver's endless questions. Somehow I manage to remember the address of the apartment me and Annie are staying at.

This time I can't get round seeing Annie. When I step through the front door into the sitting room she is there, waiting for me. She glares at me- piercing me with a thousand daggers. She is angry, of course she angry, but I am angry too and I don't want to put up with any of this tonight. I head straight for my bedroom, forcing myself to stand up straight- I can't show her that I am hurt, I can't show any of this other life, she is so broken already. I have to stay strong.

Before I reach my door she makes a strange sort of huffing noise. She mutters something to herself- to Eoghan, I'm not sure who.

I should keep walking, I should just ignore it and keep going, but I can't. I already took one beating and didn't get a chance to fight back. Now this… I won't take this. Not now, not tonight, not after everything. If I back down now I will just crumble. I have to keep on fighting. I have to keep going.

_Don't think about it. Don't let yourself be weak. _

"What now?" I say. I shouldn't be doing this. Just walk away. But the venom is there and I am too far gone not to. I have to hold on somehow.

The tone of my voice shocks her. I see her shrink back slightly, more of her slipping away to wherever it is she goes when she is not here. She has chosen the wrong night to face me because I'm not here either. I am a stone. I am heartless and strong and cold.

"On the train… "But her voice disappears in her own thoughts. "On the train you said…"

"Yeah well, you told me I couldn't." I don't feel anything.

"And I was right." I know what she is getting at. I basically told her I love her then, three seconds later I am running off all over the Capitol with a hundred other people. It isn't exactly a great demonstration of love, even if that is what it amounts to in the end. It doesn't feel like love.

She begins to cry. Not small sobs but full-on wails. I didn't even see it coming. One minute she is just sat there and the next she is completely broken beyond anything I have seen before.

I stagger over to her and sit on the other end of the sofa. I should reach out to her, put my arms around her shoulders but I am numb and I don't know how to touch someone else in a caring way. She falls into my lap, even though I am the person who has hurt her, even though it makes no sense at all. My body smarts where she leans against me but I let it.

"Why are you crying?" I whisper.

"Because it's over."

"Because what's over?"

It takes a long time before she is able to speak again.

"This. _Us_."

Suddenly the detachment is gone- I can't keep it up any longer. The front fades and it all just slips away and I am left feeling everything. I feel Consus Delore all over me. But worse than anything I feel what Annie just said and that hurts more than any cut or bruise on my body. It is like she has stamped on my chest.

I rock her back and forth in my arms. It is as if her grief for Eoghan is newly exposed. As if she has realised once again that he is never coming back, noticing, once again the silence that constantly surrounds us- the emptiness where he should be. I notice it too.

"What do you mean?"

"I think we were meant to be something."

I shake my head- I can't help it- because she has never been more wrong. There is no past tense about this- we _are_ meant to be something. We _are _something. I love her. Present tense.

I try to speak but all my anger, all my sorrow, all my hope, my longing and my love are caught in my throat and I can't even make a sound. I am completely paralysed. It is a long time before anything comes out.

"Annie?"

"What?"

"You have to forgive me."

"For what?"

I wince as her fingers trace along the inside of my arm where the skin still burns. The truth is on the edge of my tongue- it lingers there a moment but the everything in my throat holds it back and I can't explain myself.

"There is a reason." I tell her. "There's a reason for all of this. I'm sorry I can't tell you but you have to trust me. This is something. Don't say it's over just yet."

She looks up at me- confusion and wonder and grief spread across her face but she doesn't reply. I hope that means this isn't over. I hope it means that she doesn't want it to be. I couldn't live with this if I there wasn't the smallest chance for us. There has to be something left in this life which is worth having.

We ignore each other on the trip back to District 4, well, as much as any two people can ignore each other when they rely completely on one another.


	85. Chapter 85

I slam the phone down. Still nothing. After what feels like a hundred phone calls to anyone and everyone that I know in the Capitol no one seems to know who Consus Delore is. It is as if he doesn't exist, but I know he must: I had the bruises to prove it.

I have tried to be casual about my enquiries because I know they listen to all my phone calls. They probably think I am dumb enough to try contacting the Praetorians again.

I have developed a pretty good cover for investigating Consus Delore. On the train home I pretended to find a wallet in my pocket. I asked all the train staff about its owner but no one recognised it. After looking inside I found that it belonged to a Mr C. Delore. As expected, no one cared enough to take the wallet off me so it could be returned to the Capitol, so I have been phoning around trying to track down the owner ever since. Everyone I have contacted seems to beleive this story so hopefully Snow's spies do too.

I started my investigations by asking Cardea about Consus- it seemed logical enough as I had gone to all her parties and she knows practically everyone there is to know in the Capitol- just not Consus, apparently. Some people I contacted gave me another number- someone who is sure to be able to help me- but most just led me round in seem to recognise the name but can't place where they have heard it before.

I asked Cardea to send me a copy of the Capitol public 'contacts book' but there is no Consus Delore listed- his number must be classified.

There is only one person left for me to phone and I am not looking forward to that call. Blasius must know who he is: he sent me off on that date, after all. I don't expect he is going to be helpful about it, though.

I use the phone that he gave me for making appointments and press 'return call' on one of the voicemails. It rings for a long time before he picks up and when he does, I can almost hear his smirk.

"Finnick, you missing the action?" he smarms.

"I was hoping you could help me. I found a wallet. Do you have a contact number for Consus Delore?"

"You found his wallet?"

"Yes. I guess it must have got mixed up in my things after our meeting."

A pause. He is clearly trying to figure out what he is going to say next. He must know something.

"I don't know anyone with that name," he finally says, making an audiable effort to make his voice flat and steady.

"But you just said…"

"I just misheard you," he says, he is pretty smooth, obviously used to covering things up, but I don't believe him. He is trying to hide something.

"But you sent me a message- I've still got it- you named him."

"Some clients like to be discreet about their business, it is, no doubt, an alias that was used for that night only."

"Right. Well do you have an address I can return the wallet to? I'm sure he wants it back. It has been missing for four months now."

He sighs wearily, "Wait a minute- I'll go check."

I can hear him moving around his office, opening draws, shuffling through papers- sometimes he talks to someone else in the room but nothing that offers me any clues. Something strange is going on. One minute he doesn't know anyone with that name and the next he does. He is trying to cover something up. I know he is.

"Right," he says and he reads out the address. I scribble it down on the piece of paper I keep by the phone. "Was there anything else?"

"Maybe I should just drop it round- I'm due in the Capitol in a few weeks- the post probably won't get there any faster…"

"No… I think it would be best if you post it. Mr Delore is a very private man; he wouldn't like you to just… turn up."

"All right then… I'll post it."

"Was there anything else?"

"No… thanks. That was it."

He hangs up without saying goodbye. Great, now I am going to have to find a wallet to send off to this address, otherwise they will know it is just a cover. Maybe I will be able to find one in the town but first I am going to look up that address. Mr Delore might not like visitors but he is going to get one he will never forget…

I flick to the back of the contacts book where addresses are listed by street name and I search for the address but it is not listed in the book. The street is on the very edge of the Capitol and properties in the same area are all listed as industrial warehouses used for storing goods that have been transported in from the Districts. It seems unlikely a house would be built amongst them.

Part of me wants to phone up Plutarch. He is the only person I know who might know what is going on. There has to be a way that I can ask him about Consus without it seeming suspicious. I can't ask him about the wallet- not now that I have spoken to Blasius- and I don't normally call him for social reasons. In the past it has always been Plutarch that has contacted me and not the other way round. I guess I am just going to have to wait until I return to the Capitol.

I hate going to the Capitol because of what it means but at the same time when I'm in District 4 I feel so cut off from the rest of the world. There is so much going on that I should be a part of.

I hear the front door swing open. I expect it to be Annie but when I peer into the hallway I see Hake. He looks tired- the kind of tired that doesn't just come from a lack of sleep.

"You alright?" I ask him.

"Yeah… fine." He leans awkwardly against the wall, his glasses going lopsided as the wall pushes one side upwards. He looks like he could fall asleep standing up.

"You don't really look fine."

"Yeah, well…" he sighs. I don't know why he has come here. It's not like the pair of us get on very well. We tolerate each other and we are both united in our mission to help Annie but we usually take it in shifts rather than as a team.

"Do you want to go for a walk?" I ask him. I would rather get out of the house. It would be nice to be able to have at least one conversation where someone in the Capitol isn't listening in. It is draining having to worry about every word I say.

"Alright," he says.

I lead the way to the rugged path that leads down the cliff-face to the beach. He follows behind me, his hands wedged into his pockets, watching his feet as though he has never trod this way before. When we reach the sand I fall back slightly, allowing him to walk by my side. I get the impression that he wants to talk about something but doesn't quite have the words to say it yet.

"Was there something you wanted to talk about?"

"No… yes… well…." He kicks a stone and it veers awkwardly to the side travelling no more than a couple of centimetres. "I've been doing some work for Mr O'Brien."

I hadn't expected that. I didn't even know whether or not Mr O'Brien was still alive- he never leaves the house and I have never quite had the guts to visit him again after my attempted apology. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," he gives me a look as if I should know exactly what he is talking about but I don't have a clue.

"What kind of work?"

He glances around us, peering awkwardly along the beach, even though it is clearly empty. There is not another person within a mile radius.

"With the printing press- I think I've fixed it."

"Why?"

He shrugs. "Because I could. I just had to make the parts."

"But what are you going to do with it?"

"I don't know. I tried to ask Mr O'Brien about it but he just said I shouldn't bother him anymore. It works, though- I tested it last night. Almost bought all the peacekeepers down on us because it's so noisy but we managed to convince them I'd just pressed the button by mistake- that the machinery moved but it didn't do anything- but it did." He pulls out a screwed up piece of paper from his pocket and shows it to me. There isn't much written on it- just the date. I think he expects me to take it from him but I have seen enough- I know it works.

"You won't be able to start the machine up again in a hurry," I tell him. "They might let you get away with it once but they won't again."

"I know. We can only use it when there is something loud enough to drown out the noise."

"But what are you going to use it for?"

He shrugs, "I was hoping you might know."

"And what makes you think I might?"

He shrugs again, "Just something Mr O'Brien said."

I guess I can trust him. The guy has just built an illegal printing press. I have already been caught and got away with it. If anything he would get into more trouble over this than I would. "I don't know what to do," I tell him, "But I might know some people who would. I'm going back to the Capitol in a couple of weeks- I'll be able to find out then. Whatever you do, don't start using the press- ok?"

Hake nods, "OK."

He doesn't mention it again and we fall into silence for a while as we continue along the beach. The air grows colder as the afternoon drifts into evening.

Then, after at least half an hour of silence, he finally talks again. "I've been thinking a lot- about last week."

Last week? I run through the days in my mind trying to figure out what he means but I still don't quite get it. He must see that I don't because he starts to explain.

"I saw you and Annie together. I probably should have let you know I was there but… I guess I didn't want to disturb you. She must have had a nightmare or something. She seemed pretty upset."

"Yeah, she was."

"But I think you made it better. You know, whatever you said to her really seemed to work." He ducks his head down, avoiding my eyes. His red hair hits the sun in just the right way to make it look like it's actually on fire. Something is bugging him. I don't know what, but it is.

"You just have to make sure she knows she's alright- that she's safe," I tell him.

"I know… it's just, when I do it, it doesn't seem to work. She only listens to you."

"I dunno about that, she spends as much time telling me to leave her alone as she does actually spending time with me."

"I know what I saw," he actually sounds a little annoyed.

"It doesn't mean anything, though."

He grimaces. "If only people were more like machines. I might be able to fix things then. It's hard… she's not an easy person to be around."

"I know."

"But you seem to manage it a whole lot better." He cringes again. "The more time I spend with her the more I'm coming to realise that sometimes loving her isn't enough. It doesn't make any difference…" He shakes his head. "Is it bad that I think I should walk away?"

I don't know what to say. I don't want to push him into giving her up so I can have her- I don't want to be that person but at the same time I can't talk him into sticking around. I can't tell him what to do- I am to heavily involved. This is his choice.

"I'm just not managing all of it that well. I never know what to do or to say and everything just comes out wrong… I don't want to give up but I don't think this is what I'm meant to do. I leave school this year and… I want to feel useful. She never lets me in; sometimes it is like talking to a brick wall…"

I can see that he is beginning to lose it. I guess I feel sorry for the guy. He never signed up for this. He has no idea what it is like for Annie. He doesn't know the half of it. "Hey, it's alright," I tell him.

"I will always be her friend," he continues, still stumbling over his rambling words "Just, seeing her with you… I never really had a chance. And maybe… maybe I would be better off mending other things."

He is saying some of the same things that I have felt a hundred times before. It is as though he is speaking my thoughts out loud. Loving someone isn't always what it is meant to be. It isn't easy and it is never straight forward. People make out that it should be, but it isn't. Especially not with Annie. Loving Annie involves a lot of other things too- there is guilt and anger and frustration and sadness. It is a lot for one person. The difference between us, though, is that my love has to be enough. She has given me no choice but to love her- no matter what also comes with that. I think, deep down, part of me always knew that she was meant to be mine and somehow, her being chosen for the Games seems to prove that. No one will ever understand us better than we understand each other.

"I just thought I should tell you. Anyway," he says, looking a bit sheepish, his cheeks turning pink. "I had better…" he gestures up the beach. He shuffles away from me. He has said his bit and now we only have awkwardness left again.

It is strange but as I watch him walk away i suddenly realise that Hake isn't that bad, after all. Maybe, under different circumstances we might have been friends- maybe we could be friends.


	86. Chapter 86

I lean up against the wall pretending to make a phone call as I closely watch the main doors of the Epicentre where the Gamemakers spend most of their time while the Games aren't on. I have been in the area for over an hour now just waiting for him to emerge. When I see his outline through the glass doors I force myself to hold back just a moment longer, the timing has to be just right. Three…. Two…. One.… I step round the corner just as Plutarch bustles through the main doors, his arms full of paperwork. As I walk by my elbow knocks his and he launches the pile of papers in every direction. When I kneel down to help him pick them up, I lean in closer to him than what would usually be socially acceptable.

"We need to talk," I whisper, keeping my voice down as low as I can. I hope, from the outside, the whole setup looks natural enough. The last thing I want is for this to grab people's attention.

Plutarch doesn't reply but I see his head indicate the slightest of nods. That is all I need to see. Within a moment all the papers are gathered up and he is heading off in his direction while I continue in my own. I make sure that I don't look back. I have no idea how many people are still watching me, or if they still suspect I am working with the Praetorians, but I have learnt to always act with the upmost secrecy regardless.

Almost a week later I receive the message I had been hoping for, although not in the way I expected.

The words_ Plutarch Heavensbee 8pm. 51 Dominion Avenue _appear in a text from Blasius. I didn't know I was Plutarch's type.

I arrive slightly early but I knock on the apartment door anyway. When the door opens Plutarch seductively leans up against the frame, dressed only in a short dressing gown. Blandly I walk past him- too embarrassed to play along- and sit down on his sofa.

"You sure got into character."

"Always best to keep up appearances as much as possible." He closes the front door and walks over to shut all the curtains, cocooning us inside the small room. "What did you want to discuss?" Straight into business. Now that I'm here I realise how little I actually know about Plutarch. He was always there in the background when I met up with Hydra but I wouldn't say he participated in our discussions. He usually just sat fiddling with some sort of puzzle. He may or may not have been listening.

"Do you know anyone with the name Consus Delore?" If he wants to talk business then we will talk business. Besides, I know he will have time to hear about the printing press- it will be of use to him- but I don't know how readily he will listen to my request.

"No. I have never heard that name before." He deliberately, unblinkingly, looks me straight in the eye. I hate it when people do that, it makes my stomach squirm.

"Would you have a way of looking it up?"

"My access to those sorts of documents is very limited. You would be better off asking someone in personnel "

"But there has to be a way of finding out. It is very important." Surely someone must know. I didn't encounter a ghost that night- he was a living, breathing person and somewhere there must be a trail that can lead me back to him.

Plutarch shakes his head, "I'm afraid not. It isn't that simple. It might not even be a real name."

"That's what Blasius said."

"Couldn't he give you more information?"

"No. We aren't exactly on good terms."

"Right," Plutarch begins to get to his feet. I get the sense that he wants to usher me out. "Well if that's everything…" I can tell he is disappointed. He must have spent a small fortune paying for me to come here tonight.

"I have more," I tell him. "Information. That was- well, I just needed to ask... Personal business."

He pours himself a drink. "Would you like one?" He holds up a glass to me.

"No thanks."

He shovels some ice into his glass and swishes the amber liquid around, contemplating it thoughtfully.

"How are the Praetorians doing? Since Hydra…?"

"I think it would be unwise of me to discuss it." He takes a sip and perches on the edge of one of the chairs, his large body looking too big for the small space.

"You don't think I can be trusted?" I never thought that the Praetorians would believe Snow's hype about me being a traitor but I guess that isn't the case.

"No. I think that you have made yourself untouchable with regard to being of use to us. Fabricius has done a good job with your image. Everyone will have a hard time seeing you as anything other than Snow's man now."

"Surely that's to your benefit? What better way to disguise it?"

"They are still watching you."

"They are always watching."

"I can't discuss our plans with just anyone. It isn't really a matter of trust but of security."

I get the impression that it doesn't matter to him what I have done for them previously. He is only concerned with making sure that his current plans succeed. I get it; he doesn't really know where I am coming from anymore. I am no longer part of their plans; they don't expect me to help. I could probably walk away without telling them anything and he wouldn't think any more of it. Being involved with the Praetorians has caused me enough trouble already but since being on the inside, since having the thrill of being part of the plan, knowing more than everyone else and feeling as though I can actually make a difference, I am finding it hard to stay away. This time I am going to be smart about it, though.

"I want to help you. Maybe I can't be 'the face of the Praetorians' or whatever it was you wanted me to be but I still have information and access to people and places that could be useful."

"All right, you think you have something useful?"

"District 4 has an illegal printing press. It was broken up years ago- no one thinks it works but it does. I know the operator. It could be at your disposal."

"Where about is it?"

"In the middle of town."

"But the sound of-"

"Yeah- we know."

"You will have to move it. Somewhere remote- somewhere production can be carried out on a regular basis." It is as if he is thinking aloud. He doesn't look at me but swishes his drink as he continues to consider all the possibilities. I get the impression he gets a real kick out of strategizing. A smile spreads across his face as if he has just solved a problem. "Have you told the operator about us?"

"No, but he's trustworthy."

He nods. "Was there anything else?"

"Did you want me to do anything?"

"We'll have to wait and see."

I guess I don't fit into whatever master plan he is cooking up at the moment. It is different dealing with Plutarch than it was dealing with Hydra. Hydra was my friend but with Plutarch it is all business. He just wants to solve the puzzle and right now I am not a piece that fits.

"What are you going to use the press for?"

"You will find out when you need to know. I trust I will be able to contact the operator through you?"

"I guess." So that's it- demoted to a messenger boy.

I stay for another twenty minutes and we have more circular conversations that never seem to go anywhere because no matter how many questions I ask he is never willing to give me the answers. I try to ask again about Consus – this time without mentioning his name but he still has nothing to say about it. I guess I am going to have to look elsewhere.

* * *

><p>I could probably charm my way into anywhere if I just bothered to try. I have talked my way into the Assembly building before and this time is just as easy. Blasius' office is still in the same place but the décor has changed. The old carpet has been replaced with parquet flooring.<p>

The filing cabinets are locked but I find the keys tucked up inside his desk drawer. I suppose with all the guards outside he thought it would be near impossible for someone to break in.

I pull open the middle drawer and flick through the records until I find the folder with my name on it and I drag it out onto the desk. At the top of the pile is a sort of calendar with upcoming appointments written in Blasius' untidy scrawl. Next I find a wallet which has a list of codes followed by telephone numbers. When I compare the information on the calendar I see that the codes match up. I thumb through the rest of the documents as best as I can but nowhere is there a copy of old appointments or a list explaining the codes. It's no good; nothing in this folder is going to help me figure it out. I put it back in the cabinet and head back towards the desk.

I start up the computer but find it is password protected so I shut it down again. That's when I notice the pile of papers that fills his in-tray. The document on the top seems to be some sort of record of accounts. There is money going in and a very small amount going out and next to each transaction is a name and a date. I rifle though the pages until I find the list of transactions that took place in January when I had my encounter with Consus Delore. I quickly look down the list for his name but, as expected, it isn't there. However, his name- his real name- must be somewhere on this list. He must have paid for the privilege of my time. The only question is which name?

Aware that I have already spent far too much time in Blasius' office I return the pile of papers to his in-tray and stuff the accounts for January inside my jacket. After making sure that everything is where it should be, I head on out.

I don't even see the guards on the walk between Blasius' office and the main doors of the Assembly building. Probably just as well, the smaller the number of people who see me the less likely this is to come back to me later on.

Back at the apartment I put a line through any of the names I recognise and all the women and I leave the remaining men I don't know. I am left with around thirty names- most of which won't even be people I have met before. They could be paying for Cashmere or Gloss or any of the others that they have trapped in this sordid world. I check the names in the contact book but most of them aren't there. The capitol's elite are not the sort who like to share their details. I will just have to find out who they are the hard way. I just have to gather as much information as I can, any way I can. At least this is a start; at least there is a chance of me finding out who Consus really is.

* * *

><p>I collapse down on the pillows, exhausted and I look across at her in the shrouded light. She is old but the lamp-light is forgiving and the plastic surgery helps. Out of breath, she smiles across at me, a familiar calmness in the way she is lies spread out across the sheet. Hardly moving at all she stretches out her arm and reaches for her purse. She wants to pay me because in her mind that makes all of this alright.<p>

I place my hand on her purse, "No," I say softly, "but there is something you could do."

"What?" she asks breathily.

"What do you know about Thornton Frisket?"

She rolls over onto her side, "Why do you want to know?"

"I just didn't recognise the name."

"Well..." there is a strange glimmer in her eye and I can tell she is just desperate to share some information with me and she doesn't hold back.

Thornton Frisket is an ex- defence secretary who was forced out of his office because of a morphling addiction that almost killed him- though he claimed it was a heart attack in the press. While he near killed himself with the drugs he had an affair with another man's wife and his mother mysteriously passed away, despite being in perfect health.

The more she tells me the more I am amazed by what I hear. This is not the sort of information that I have heard passed round at parties.

"But you won't tell anyone, will you?" she laughs. "Of course you won't- who would you tell?"

I had planned to write a few words next to each name in a notebook but when I come to write it up it takes pages.

I don't exactly know what it is I am waiting to hear- what piece of information I think is going to give Consus away but the way I look at it the more information I can gather on these thirty men, the better. It is all preparation for what is to come. When I track him down I am going to be ready for him. Anyway, for once it might be nice to be the person who has the leverage for a change instead of it always being the other way around.


	87. Chapter 87

I watch as the tributes climb aboard their chariots. Some look the part- young, brave, bold, beautiful- others are more nervous, looking around for someone to reassure them. Who is it going to be this year? Who is going to join our strange band of unlikely victors, pulled together by nothing other than the Games themselves? Will it be the boy from District 1 who can't stop rubbing the power off his nose? Will it be the girl from 6 who is already squaring up to the other tributes? Or the small girl from 10 who doesn't seem to have a clue what is going on. I hope it is an underdog. I hope it is someone from a small district- a district that will be willing to break the rules because I get the feeling we need it.

"Mags?"

"Where are you off to now?"

"I've got a hot date," I tell her, pulling my collar up and striking a pose.

She rolls her eyes, "One of these days you are going to let me retire."

"Never," I tell her, "You're too good at this. Besides, I need someone to watch my back."

"I'm an old lady."

"Which is precisely why I need you. Who would suspect such a sweet, dear woman even when she is lying through her teeth?"

"Less of the sweet," she laughs.

"I'll be back late- don't wait for me."

"I'll tell the tributes you're talking to sponsors- they'll like that."

"Thanks," I give Mags a quick peck on the cheek and slip away. The other victors are too used to me disappearing to even think about it but some of the tributes watch me go. Thankfully Sole and Keelin aren't looking. It would feel too much like I am letting them down if I have to look them in the eye while I shirk my duties.

I barely know their names this year. I have never met them before. I think I am going to keep my distance.

I head back to Dominion Avenue to the same apartment where Plutarch arranged our first meeting. Unlike last time, he does not greet me in his dressing gown.

"Do you have them?" he asks the moment the door is closed.

I reach inside my jacket and pull out the small packet that I have kept between my shirt and chest for the last three days and hand it to him.

"Is this all of them?"

"Yeah- twelve- one for each District- just like you asked."

He pulls out one of them looking it over, scrutinising it closely. "Aquila Ford?"

"We paired up first and last names randomly from the contact book. Four women and eight men."

He nods. He runs his finger over the surface, still checking every inch so he can be sure they are exactly what he asked for. "And you printed them on the paper we sent?"

"Of course. They are identical to the sample identity papers you gave us. Hake made sure of it- he was up half the night finishing them."

"And you are sure that no one heard?"

"We have moved the press to a hut down by the beach. It was a stormy night. No one could have heard it running unless they were in the same room."

Finally he stops looking them over and he transfers them to a briefcase which he seals and scrambles the combination lock. That done, he looks at me as though he isn't quite sure what to do with me. "It would be too soon for you to leave now," he says. "Not quite… believable," he almost shudders as he picks up the remote and turns on the television.

The tribute parade has started and they are approaching the City Circle. The camera follows the girl from District 2 who is proudly waving to the crowds, ignoring the boy that is stood next to her.

"You said you needed the papers for the victory tour?"

"Not per se, that was just the time limit that was agreed upon."

"But I thought…" I have been told very limited details of the plan but over the last few months my mind has been working furiously trying to fill in the gaps and work out what the praetorians are doing.

Up until this one all the tasks they have asked me to give Hake have seemed arbitrary - my guess is that they were just testing the system- checking that I would deliver the messages properly and that Hake would produce what they asked without anyone finding out what is going on. However, it is pretty obvious to me, that the request to produce twelve identification papers- one for each district- is far from arbitrary.

I assumed that they were planning to place Praetorians in each District so they could keep an eye on what is going on. I had also guessed that they were going to distribute these people during the victory tour- the one time during the year when it is relatively simple to travel between districts- providing you are linked to the victor in some way. That's why I suspect it will be important to have a victor from one of the outer districts this year- someone who might be willing to play along a bit. Although, maybe if Keelin or Soul win, they might actually let me in on the plan.

What I hadn't figured out is why all the identification papers state that some of these individuals are from District 2. Surely it isn't that difficult for citizens from the Capitol to travel to the districts? Why do they need to pretend they are from District 2? Maybe I am wrong about the plan. Maybe it is not that at all. Although it must be something important- to give an order for a relatively small printing job six months in advance does seem a little excessive.

"Are you going to tell me what the plan is?"

"We tell you what you need to know," Plutarch says.

I glance back at the television screen. The girl from District 5 is blinking out at the crowd, seemingly mesmerised by the sheer number of people that surround her. Just behind her, in the next chariot, I see the boy from District 7 looking grumpy and fed-up. His arms have been pinned to his side in yet another variation of the same tree costume that seems to appear every year.

"Shouldn't you be working out ways to kill people or something?" I ask him.

"We have the night of the Opening Ceremonies off- our last night off until after the Games have finished. It is implied that we should watch the ceremonies but I don't know a Gamemaker that actually does."

The camera pans out to show all the crowds as they wave and cheer the new stars of the next couple of weeks.

"So who do you want to win?"

"I'm a Gamemaker- it is my job to be impartial."

"But surely there are times when you would rather one tribute won over another?"

He shakes his head, "I just do as I am told. I'm sure you understand that it doesn't help to get too attached. Particularly where, as you have so tactfully pointed out , my job is to test , challenge and generally make things as hard as possible for the tributes just as it is your job to try and make them easier."

"But you could make it harder for some tributes than others."

"As I said, it doesn't work like that. We each have a particular remit. This year I am concerned with generating gunfire and by telling you that I have already said too much. But, as that illustrates, it is impossible for me to govern exactly how challenging it is for any particular tribute. I just have to do my job properly or I face the consequences. You may or may not be surprised to know that the Gamemaker in charge of designing and making that dam last year is no longer part of the team. The Games are an important business. Someone once told me that if I wanted to get involved in politics I should become a Gamemaker as that is where all the real decisions are made. Running the Games is no different from running the country. They may appoint a Head Gamemaker but Snow would be a fool if he actually let him call the shots."

"What were you in charge of last year?"

He gives me a look and pauses slightly before replying, "Earthquakes."

"But-?" I struggle to try and piece things together. It was an earthquake that caused the dam to break. It was the dam breaking that flooded the arena. It was only because the arena flooded that Annie survived.

He turns his back on me and heads over to the small kitchen area where he flicks the switch on the kettle. He begins to hum to himself while he works.

"Did you know the dam would break?"

"How, precisely, could anyone know something like that?" He says, getting a mug out of one of the cupboards.

His hum changes to the anthem to correspond with the end of the Opening Ceremony.

It is clear he isn't going to say any more about that. He won't outright tell me whether or not he helped to save Annie last year. Something tells me that he did, although I don't know why. Why would anyone else care if Annie lived or died?

"Do you ever… do you ever feel bad about what you have to do?"

"It would happen even if I didn't do it. Besides, I am just following orders. It's not a personal thing. It's not like I personally draw a sword and stab them through the heart. Anyway, I need to do it so I can continue my work for the praetorians. I might be making some lives miserable currently but one day I am going to change them all for the better, so I guess that evens out."

It seems that everyone is searching for a way to justify their actions. No one is really willing to believe they are just a bad person. When I tell people how guilty I feel they tell me it isn't my fault, that I had no choice- that the Gamemakers made me do it, that it is all President Snow- his predecessors- someone. Yet I still did it. I wonder what would happen if one year all the tributes made a pact not to kill each other and if they actually stuck to it. The arena would kill them eventually but the victor would be chosen at random. Not based on skill but pure luck. I guess that's why it never happens. I would never have left my own survival down to luck.

He glances down at his watch. "I think it would be alright if you left now."

I nod, ruffling my hair in hope it will look dishevelled. I take a few steps towards the door but I can't help but ask him because I want to know- I need to know. "How come you saved Annie last year?"

"Would you be standing here if I hadn't?"

I let it sink in as I walk away.

Where would I be now if I had lost them both? Would I still be here in the Capitol trying to track down Consus Delore, mentoring tributes, joking with the other victors? No.

When I reach the elevator I take out my phone and punch in her number. She answers on the third ring.

"Hello?" she sounds confused.

"It's me."

"Finnick," she breathes a sigh of relief and somehow I feel a little better too, just because I've heard her voice. It's like finding the answer to a problem- everything suddenly clicks into place.

"I've missed you," I tell her.

"I didn't see you at the Opening Ceremonies."

"I had some things I had to do."

"Another woman?" Her voice is tense.

"Yeah."

She makes a strange noise- it's difficult to describe but she sound upset.

"There has been this one woman whose been bugging me a lot. I can't stop thinking about her. But I have this problem, see."

"What problem?"

"She doesn't like me."

"Why not?"

"She thinks I'm always chasing after other girls?"

"That's funny," she says, "That's what I heard too."

"But what she doesn't realise is that there are girls and then there are girls… There are girls that you spend a night with because that's what people expect you to do, and then there are the girls you spend your whole life with because no one expects you to. Because you know that you can't help but love her. Because you have loved her your whole life. Because someone, somewhere out there, must have known that she was all you could ever want or need."

For a long time there is silence then, shakily, she says, "I'd better go now." And she hangs up the phone.


	88. Chapter 88

When I see the arena I understand what Plutarch meant when he said he is in charge of 'gunshots'. This year the tributes are in a dense urban sprawl that doesn't look that much different from the Capitol itself. It is all shiny surfaces and sharp edges. Along different streets there are different dangers that the tributes have to face. One of these dangers is what I can only describe as snipers.

The careers- Sole and Keelin among them- casually walk down this road. It looks like any other but when they are only about halfway down they are showered with gunfire. They all immediately react and take cover in a large porch, huddling together. However; somehow, despite this, the boy from District 1, a firm favourite of the Capitol crowds, is shot right in the forehead. He drops down at their feet. Keelin screams. No one expected to see that happen.

I am no expert in gun warfare but something about it doesn't seem quite right- it is as if the gunshots were specifically targeting him. I wouldn't be surprised if they were. As soon as he has fallen the gunshots stop, allowing the others to walk warily away.

This move by the gamemakers seems particularly unusual as usually their intervention has a particular purpose; sometimes it is used to drive tributes towards a particular area- like the cave-ins that happened in my own arena. Sometimes they add entertainment when a day has been too quiet- these interventions will usually result in injury but not death. Sometimes they target a tribute that has got out of hand- such as the avalanche that killed the tribute who turned to cannibalism a few years back. But these gunshots… they seem a little extreme and I don't exactly see what the purpose of them is. I suspect it is all part of Plutarch's plan that has been incorporated into the arena. What better way for him to pick a winner than to kill off the undesirable ones, one at a time.

* * *

><p>I step outside the control room and go to one of the small deserted lounges where mentors are allowed to go and relax. I take out my phone, just as I have done every day since the night of the Opening Ceremonies, and my fingers patter out the familiar rhythm of her phone number.<p>

"Finnick?"

"Yeah. It's me. I've been thinking of you today."

"You always say that."

"Well that's because it's true." Every minute of every hour she is always there at the back of my mind. "How's your day been?"

"Alright. I didn't really feel like going out so I just stayed in my room." She sounds a little flat. Probably bored.

"Why didn't you hang out with Hake?"

"I dunno. He's always busy with something. His dad wants him to get a job loading the fish onto the trains but he said he's too busy."

"Yeah, he has his projects."

"What have you been doing?"

"You know, the normal- mostly stuck in the control room."

There is a slight pause. "Finnick?"

"Yeah?"

"Why do you always call me?"

"Because it is the only way I will hear your voice every day."

As always, on that revelation, she hangs up the phone. One day, I swear, I am going to get her to keep on talking to me. Just that day is not today.

Still, I feel a little lighter as I step back into the Control Room.

* * *

><p>They share the secrets so readily it is as If they have been waiting years for someone to ask for them. When I ask her eyes narrow slightly, her teeth biting down on her bottom lip as it breaks into a smile, and she leans in a little closer.<p>

"I used to date him," she tells me, "but I knew something about him wasn't right- you know what I mean? Something just wouldn't sit right. He wouldn't sleep with me for one thing- wouldn't even lie next to me in the same bed. We would spend evenings together dancing at parties and drinking and laughing but when we got back to his place he would direct me to another room and just abandon me for the whole night. As you know, that is not the way to make a woman feel wanted. I just wasn't used to it. I am a woman who is used to being desired. I knew I would make him satisfy me eventually.

"Anyway, I soon grew sick and tired of waiting round for him- I wanted someone to excite me- to really get the passion going. Well, I went over to his place- this must have been the middle of the day- I never believed I would find him in a tryst with the neighbour's dog- a Doberman, no less. No wonder he never showed any interest in me. I didn't even have to say a thing. That was it- we both knew it was over. I didn't mind, he pays me an annual sum to keep it under wrap. I use that money to pay for company like you. So ironically I guess he has bought me satisfaction, just not in the way I imagined."

* * *

><p>"Hey Annie."<p>

"Is Eoghan with you?"

"What do you mean?"

"He's not here." She sounds worried, "He is usually with me but he isn't. I don't know where he has gone."

"Annie…. Eoghan's-"

"I know." She says hurriedly before I can say he is dead, "Just, I usually see him." She sounds pretty upset. "I know it's silly, but it's weird not seeing him. Do you think-maybe- he'll come back?"

"Maybe."

A long pause. "Finnick?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you talk to me? It's so quiet today."

"That's why I called."

"Will you tell me about… will you tell me about that woman again?"

I hadn't expected it; she hasn't mentioned that first phone call since it happened. I thought she was trying to ignore it. "Well, she is the first person I think of when I wake up and the last before I go to bed. Just over a year ago I told her that I loved her and back then she believed it but after that things got a bit... confused. I thought I had lost her forever and I was too scared to love what was left. What I didn't realise was that she was still there- that she was just waiting for someone to come along and pick up the pieces. So I did. There may still be cracks the glue can't fill and maybe some bits aren't lined up just right but if anything I love her better in spite of that- because of that. Maybe I don't always get things right but I'm going to keep trying until I figure it out because I know I can. Now I am just waiting for her to see the chinks in me- to see all the places where the glue can't fill in the gaps, and where the pieces aren't lined up right because that is where she fixed me all those years ago and i know, if she saw them she would understand how I feel about her."

Our conversation goes on and on and I only stop when she tells me she has to go to bed. She lets me say goodbye before she hangs up the phone.

* * *

><p>By the beginning of week 2 I know who Plutarch wants to win. When the girl from District 8 turns down the street with the sniper she barely even has to duck. The bullets fly through the air giving her such a wide birth that even she realises she is in no danger. She sidles along the side of the building where she is hidden from everyone else in the arena and the bullets punch the side of the building in a neat line behind her, she is always one step ahead.<p>

When I look up at the map I see the bullets are actually leading her away from the other tributes that are positioned round the corner at the other end of the street. Surely one of the other Gamemakers will notice Plutarch's ploy? Surely it is too obvious to go by without any comment?

I am not surprised when little glimpses of this favouritism continues in other parts of the arena.

* * *

><p>"Finnick?"<p>

"Yes Annie?"

"When are you coming home?"

"When the Games are over."

"When will that be?"

"Soon. There is only five left now."

"Is it terrible if I wish for it to end today?"

"No. It is better when it's over." Even if it means four of them have to die it is still better for it to end. Waiting for the end is worse than reaching it.

* * *

><p>I think I am the only one who isn't surprised when the girl from District 8 wins. No one quite knows how it happened. She didn't have a very large backing. She wasn't stronger or braver or better equipped than anyone else. When I congratulate Woof and Cecelia both just stare at me in complete shock.<p>

Overall the girl seems pretty non-descript. However, as always, she is welcomed by the Capitol with open arms. A victor is still a victor.

When she emerges for the recap of the games and her interview she was met with a clamouring need for everyone to know more about her. She takes it all well, enjoying the attention. I am pleased we have a new victor because it finally takes the focus off of Annie. Also I can finally go home again.

* * *

><p>I almost miss the phone calls when I reach District 4. It isn't as easy to stand in front of her and say the same words I can so easily say into the mouthpiece. I am almost tempted to keep up the routine, even though she lives next door, even though I could just go to her instead.<p>

On the way home I had begun writing another poem. Maybe I should read it to her down the phone. Maybe I should read it down the phone and turn up at her door as I read the final line so when she opens the door she finds me smiling back at her. Maybe I should…

But my plans are cut-off mid-stream when the landline begins to squeak. With a sigh I go to it.

"Hello?"

"We have a problem," It's Plutarch.

"What do you mean?" Has someone found out about the Praetorians? Has the plan been compromised? "We have a broken radio transmitter."

"Oh… right." It doesn't really seem like that big a deal to me.

"Do you think that man of yours could fix it?"

"Probably, he's good at that sort of thing." That probably means there isn't another man amongst the praetorians who is actually useful with his hands.

"He would have to go to District Twelve, maybe permanently. Contact Marquinez Hutton if he can. I can't tell you more than that."

"Alright."

So much for going to see Annie.

I can guess where Hake is even without asking anyone. I head down to the little hut on the beach where the roar of the waves drowns out the hum and clatter of the printing press. Leant over a workbench he doesn't see me straight away. It is only when I am right by his side that he notices he has company.

"Hey!" When did you get back?" He asks me.

"Yesterday."

"Would have thought you would have been off whispering sweet things in Annie's ear."

I would have too but I haven't even had a chance to see her yet. I guess business must always come before pleasure. "No…. er… well, the Praetorians wanted me to ask if you think you could repair a radio transmitter."

"Sure, no problem. I'm sure I would be able to figure it all out." He turns back to his workbench which is covered in various random parts and tools. "Where is it?" he looks at me almost as if he expects me to produce it from nowhere.

"District 12."

He stops, he looks at me. "District 12? But how am I going to fix it?"

"You have to go there and, if you go, you'll have to stay. You'll be part of their plan. I don't know exactly what it is but I think they want to monitor what is happening in each district and use the radio transmitters to share information with the Praetorians in the Capitol."

"I see. And I can never come back?" He stumbles backwards until he finds a chair where he sits looking dazed.

"I don't know. Maybe. He didn't say for sure. You don't have to give me your decision right away."

"I'd miss everyone," he says, "And yet… and yet this is a chance to do something with my life. To maybe make a difference, you know? Dad wants me to start loading fish…"

"Not much of a job for a mechanic."

"Yeah, I know." He awkwardly gets to his feet and stumbles round the side of the printing press, ruffling his red hair as he thinks. "Someone else will have to run the press. I suppose I could teach someone before I go…" he begins looking through some papers until he finds just the right one. "Darius."

"What?"

"That will be my name when I go to District 12."

"You don't look like a Darius. I think it's the glasses," I tell him. The real Darius that I had taken the name from was large and worked out regularly and he had dark hair and blue eyes.

"I don't have to wear the glasses," he says, a little defensively. "It could be a new start. I always thought it would be nice not to be named after a fish. Especially hake, I mean, they are pretty ugly."

"Yeah… anyway, think about it- let me know, eh?"

"Yeah…" Before I have even left, the knocking of his tools on metal is heard as he gets back to work.

On the walk back home I begin to think about Annie and the best way of approaching her in person. The poem is probably the best idea. It was a poem that worked last time. I should get changed- make sure I look really nice. Maybe wear a suit. Should I bring her flowers?

At home I trudge halfway up the stairs before I notice that I must have left the stereo on earlier. Some quiet music wafts up the stairs from the living room. I turn and head back down, taking the stairs two at a time.

As I open the door I realise I vaguely recognise the song but I can't place where from. I take a step towards the stereo before I notice the rest of the room.

Covering every surface, hanging from the ceiling, resting on the floor, everywhere I look, there are hundreds of origami paper cranes. I have never seen anything like it before. They are in all different colours and different sizes. They must have taken hours and hours to make. Sat in the middle of all of them, cross-legged on the mat in the centre of the room, is Annie.

She uncurls her legs and gets to her feet, launching herself into my arms. I hold her, smelling the sweet salty scent of her hair, the familiar warmth of her clothes and it is as if I might burst.

Slowly she looks up at me. "I made one every time I thought of you."

Even before she has fully finished the last syllable my lips touch hers. And she doesn't push me away, if anything she holds me even tighter.


	89. Chapter 89

We sit on the beach together and I watch her fingers fold the paper back and forth, turning it in intricate ways that my eye can't quite follow.

"Then you fold it so it looks like a kite," she tells me.

Just behind her, the sun, resting low on top of the water, emits an orange glow that casts everything in a warm light. The edge of the sea rolls over my toes, white foam curling over yellow sands. She smiles as she works, turning the paper back on itself. Watching her, being with her, is like living poetry.

_Colliding, crashing through time; a thousand years _

_I waited-_

_For this. _

_A love made before you, before me, before today,_

_Written in the stars, the seas, across the sky, written in my tears_

_Fated_

_That kiss- _

_Some distant person's dream of this brand new day_

_Magnetic hold pulls us together and, despite my fears-_

_Long awaited_

_Bliss._

_And next to you, for our infinity, I will stay. _

"So do you think you could make one?" She says holding up her finished paper crane.

"Uh…"

"You weren't listening again were you?"

"I was listening, I was just…" Just beyond Annie I see Hake leaving the small hut. She turns round and follows my gaze as I watch him. He locks the door behind him and makes his way along the beach towards us. When he is within ten metres he throws the keys to me and I catch them.

"It's all set up," he says.

"The radio?"

"Everything."

Annie looks from me to Hake, waiting for an explanation but neither of us elaborates. "What's going on?"

We agreed we wouldn't tell her for her own safety. Should the plan be compromised then she wouldn't get into trouble. There is, however, one thing that she does need to know.

"I'm leaving," Hake tells her, cutting straight to the point.

"When? Why?"

"Tomorrow," he sighs, "I've got a job in another District. I'm leaving on the victor's train."

While the latest victor celebrates with us in the justice building Hake will switch places with the Praetorian posing as District 4's latest peacekeeper. Once on board the train he will take it all the way to District 2 where he will change into civilian clothes and be trained as a peacekeeper. After training he will be taken out to District 12. Apparently the Praetorians have it all set up with the correct paperwork behind it. I just hope it works. There seems to be so many ifs and buts.

"But… why didn't you tell me you are leaving?"

"Maybe I should give you two a bit of space…" I say getting to my feet. The pair of them look up at me in horror. It is obvious that neither of them want to be left alone. "How long have you two known each other?" I say, throwing myself back down again, resigned to my fate as awkward third wheel.

"We didn't want to upset you," Hake says.

Wrong answer.

"I hate that!" Annie spits. "Why does everyone think I need protecting all the time? Of course I am going to be upset- you're leaving- why did you think it would make me feel better not knowing about it until the last minute when there is nothing I can do except say goodbye?"

Hake looks at me, willing for me to make this better. "Fine way to say goodbye," I say, trying to tease our way out of this.

"And you're just as bad," she says rounding on me, "You are always hiding things from me. From poor mad Annie who couldn't possibly cope with knowing anything because she is too weak and pathetic."

"It's not like that," I tell her.

"Then what is it like?"

There is no point in lying about it anymore. She knows something is going on and I know I won't be able to lie our way out of it. A quick smile and a touch on the arm isn't going to wash with Annie, she isn't like those Capitol drones that are all just vying for attention.

"There is a plan that started in the Capitol to try and overthrow Snow. Both of us are involved. We didn't tell you because if we did then you would be involved too and it wouldn't have been your choice. It wouldn't be fair to drag you into this just on account of us. It's dangerous. That's why Hake is leaving. We couldn't tell you before because the plan had to be kept secret. The more people who know about it the more dangerous it is. For all of us."

"Oh." She says quietly. For a minute I can see it slowly sinking in, she begins to think it all over; trying to piece together the snippets she has seen and heard before. "Is that why you spend so much time in the Capitol?" she asks me.

"Yes," I reply. Better for her to think that than to know the truth, besides, it is partly true.

"I see." She looks from me to Hake. "I should do something to help. Snow… he killed… I should make sure no one else has to go through what I did. I should…"

"No!" I say it a little too loudly, a little too vehemently, but my mind is full of pictures I don't want to see- worries that have never even crossed my mind before. Annie on missions, Annie being captured, raped, interrogated… the minute she gets involved in all this a hundred new possibilities open up, a hundred new ways to lose her. I can't let her do it.

"I need to help."

"It won't help anything," I tell her.

"I could do it; I am a lot better than I used to be-"

She is so blind to the truth. She is better than she used to be but if she could see herself- the moments of complete absence, the conversations with Eoghan, the irrational actions, the wandering, the nightmares- she is barely in one piece- if she could see it then she wouldn't believe for a moment that she is well enough to incite a rebellion. It is a wonder that she can string together even one coherent sentence.

"No, Annie," I tell her.

"He's right," Hake agrees, "It would be difficult. You would have to go back to the Capitol."

When he mentions the Capitol the temporary fire I saw in her is extinguished and she sinks back down onto the sand.

"I wish I wasn't so useless."

"You're not useless," Hake says.

"You're not useless," I echo.

"Well I'm not useful," she says. "I can't make a difference to anything."

"You make a difference to me. Besides, do you think I'd be able to do anything to help if I was worrying about you the whole time? I need to know you are safe, I need to know I can come back to you because that is the only way I can get through it. We are a team, alright? You remember that."

"Alright," she says, but she doesn't sound convinced.

"Anyway, we seem to have got a little side-tracked because tonight isn't about us- it's about Hake and his last night in District 4."

"For now," Hake promptly interjects.

"For now," I agree. "And it's a time to celebrate because he is going off somewhere else where he can take other people's girls away from them."

"Technically she was mine first," Hake teases.

"Technically my arse, she's always been mine."

"So what are we going to do?" Annie asks before our argument can progress into anything more serious.

"Well, from what I've heard, the place I'm going is severely lacking in the sea department."

"Sounds like there is only one thing we can do then…." I say, ripping my shirt off as I run towards the water.

"Last one in is- er- is last!" Hake yells, from just over my shoulder, throwing his glasses onto the sand.

I run straight into the water, diving beneath the waves as soon as I can. The water is freezing but I just keep swimming. I love feeling the current push against me as I propel myself further and further away from the shore. When I finally come up for breath the shore looks far away.

I see Hake swimming to my right, throwing his wet hair out of his face and far away, very small in the distance, stood on the edge of the water is Annie.

"Why isn't she with us?" Hake says, swimming over to join me.

I almost tell him I don't know. I almost say that maybe she just doesn't want to get cold but then the truth dawns on me. "It's the water. She hasn't swum since her games," I reply then let the dark blue waves swallow me up again.

I hadn't really thought about it before but it has been a year and a half and she has never stepped foot in the water since she came back.

When I am close enough to the shore again I call out to her, "Annie?"

"I'm fine," she says as she stares out into the waves, a distant look in her eyes.

I stagger back up onto the beach and take her by the hand. "Come on."

She looks down at my damp hand then pulls back but I make sure I don't let go, "I can't."

"Of course you can, come on." I take a single step backwards, forcing her to step into the steady flow of the waves. The foam covers her toes and she curls them, digging them into the sand as though it will somehow keep her upright.

"What if-"

"Nothing is going to happen." I take another step and so does she. I feel as though I am teaching a small child to walk for the very first time. She takes it steadily, never taking her eyes off mine. When the water goes up to her ankles she stops.

"I'm not going any further," she says.

"It'll be alright," I tell her and scoop her up into my arms, walking her out into the waves. She clings tightly to my shoulders and buries her head in my chest but she doesn't stop me. When the water reaches her waist she lets out a sudden gasp. I don't know if it is the cold or just the feeling of the water.

Hake comes over to us, swimming circles round us as he shouts encouragement. I stand perfectly still to give her a chance to get used to the sensation. Slowly she loosens her hold on my shoulders and she even reaches out one of her arms, swishing it through the water. I watch as her expression changes from fear to curiosity. As Hake moves round the front of us she splashes him right in the face. I don't know if it was by accident or on purpose but her aim was dead on.

"Hey!" Hake yells and Annie begins to giggle. "I'll get you for that."

Hake fires his own cascade of water which flares up just in front of us, showering us with droplets of water. Annie pauses, thinking it over, then giggles again. She pushes free of my arms and stands by herself in the water.

Hake swims a little further away, just beyond reach of any of her splashes and she begins to follow after him, swimming with long clean strokes. I follow just behind, just in case she needs someone to fall back on.

The three of us swim around until the sun is completely gone and the sky is full of stars then we make our way back to shore and throw ourselves down on the sand, shivering in the chilled air.

"But you will come back, won't you?" Annie says, looking at Hake. "We will see you again?"

Hake looks at me before he replies and I give him a slight nod. Neither of us knows whether he will return or not. Maybe it won't be until it is all over, until we finally get freedom from Snow and the Games and everything else.

"Yeah," he finally says, "I'll make sure I come back."

I don't get a chance to see Hake the next day. I guess he wanted to spend his last moments (at least for a while) as Hake with his family before he becomes Darius.

That evening I get to see our new peacekeeper long enough to give him the key, show him to the hut and find out that he is no Hake. Exactly what use is this spoilt boy from the Capitol going to be to the rebellion?


	90. Chapter 90

The crown is on the victor's head and there is nothing more we can do. Just today then I can go home. Just today and I will be with Annie. Only a few more hours to get through before I will jump on the train and can begin to live again.

Mags dozes in her chair, finally the drugs have worn off and we can sleep again. The first drag of tiredness begins to tug on my eyelids. I'll probably sleep all the way home.

This has probably been one of the longest months of my life. I hated going to the Capitol before but now I am leaving her behind it is even worse. We have a life in District 4 and every time I go away it has to be put on hold. Everything is stuck on standstill. I am sad we don't have a victor this year but I am glad I don't have to face the victory tour again. That means I can forget about the Games for another year.

My phone buzzes in my pocket my stomach flutters, expectantly, hoping it will be from her but when I read the name it drops like a stone: Cardea Wanless.

I check the message and groan when I see it is asking me to go over to her house. She actually uses the word 'urgent' but knowing Cardea she probably just wants my opinion on a new dress.

I leave a note for Mags, telling her I will meet her on the train and head on over to Cardea's ridiculous mansion. Unlike when I usually visit her, she answers the door herself and leads me upstairs to her bedroom. I wonder if she has made an appointment with Blasius, I don't want to work when I don't have to. I check my phone again but there are no messages.

"Uh, Cardea- did you contact Blasius?" I ask as she pushes me down on the bed and turns back to shut the door behind us.

"Shhh!" she says, "I have something to tell you."

"Ok… what is it?"

She sits down next to me, a strange grin on her face- something between nervousness and excitement. For some reason it unnerves me. She opens her mouth to speak but my phone begins to ring. It is Fabricius.

"Excuse me," I tell her. I step out into the hallway and answer my phone.

"Yes?"

"Finnick, where are you?"

"At Cardea's place."

"Right. Don't say anything."

"Ok… I won't. What are you talking about?"

"Cardea has arranged some sort of press conference."

"What? Why?"

"I don't know. Dominicus Levine just contacted me asking for permission to interview you. We have been keeping a close watch on your public relations; nothing is allowed to be printed without my say-so."

"Then we should be fine."

"I don't know. If Cardea leaks something, as she is clearly intending to do, we might not be able to control it. I have a hold on the press not on general hearsay. You must promise you won't say anything- to anyone- no matter what happens, all right?"

I walk down the hallway to the end where a large window overlooks Cardea's back garden- a rare sight in the Capitol. Gathered around the patio a swarm of reporters and photographers have set up camp, clearly waiting for something.

"All right," I tell Fabricius.

"And try to get out of there as soon as possible. We have to be sure that nothing jeopardises the President's reputation otherwise that will put us both on the line."

"All right," I say again. "I'll do my best." And I hang up the phone.

I return to Cardea even more intrigued and confused than I was before. When I step back into her bedroom she is stood holding up two cocktail dresses in front of the mirror.

"Which do you think is better? The black or the red?"

"What's going on? There are reporters outside."

"Oh that," she says, "That's just a little fun for later."

"What do you mean?"

She hangs up both dresses on her wardrobe door and steers me back onto the bed. She leans across towards me, the same strange smile from before playing on her lips. I have to resist the urge to back away from her.

"I'm pregnant," she tells me.

"Oh. Well, congratulations."

"Congratulations to you too," she says, still smiling.

It takes a moment for it to sink it and when it does all I think is 'shit'.

"Imagine it! The child of a victor!" she is practically squealing she is so excited. "What do you think?"

I have nothing nice to say, don't say anything at all. "I think I have to go get my train," I tell her.

My head buzzes, trying to figure out what all this means. Trying to figure a way out of this. I slide off the end of the bed and head towards the door.

"But you can't go yet. We are giving a press release," she says.

What would Annie say? How would she feel if she found out? She would have to know everything. No more secrets. No more lies. Will she hate me? Will she be able to forgive me?

"And what exactly would I say at a press release?" I asked her.

"You know, normal things, how happy we are."

"Are we happy?"

"Of course we are, silly."

I don't want a baby. Not now. Not with her.

Maybe she is lying. Is this just another call for attention? Maybe she wants to trap me somehow. Trick me into being with her, to marry her, something like that. Maybe it isn't mine. Cardea is always at parties, maybe she is just confused about something. Maybe it is some other guy's problem.

"That isn't my baby," I manage to say, although it comes out as nothing but a hoarse whisper.

"Of course it is, it has to be."

"It's not," I tell her.

"What do you mean?" The smile has finally slipped from her face.

"I don't want a baby."

"So you want me to… well I won't!" she shouts. She actually seems upset; I guess there are some things in this world that she actually cares about other than clothes and parties.

"So keep it," I tell her, "But it is your baby, you understand? It's not mine."

"It's _our _baby."

"No. There is no _us, no ours, no we. _It's just you."

It seems to take a moment to sink in but when it does I anticipate it and, getting my feet, I step out of the way as she launches herself at me. I turn my back on her and head out the room as she screams like a mad woman, rushing after me. I leave by the front door, ignoring the reporters who are milling around, waiting for me to come out. I head straight for the train station, even though I know that there is over an hour left before the train is meant to leave.

On the platform I go straight for the waiting room and I barricade myself inside, blocking off the exit with one of the two large benches that line the walls.

It still hasn't really sunk in. I still don't really understand what this means. What exactly am I meant to do? I don't love Cardea. This child doesn't feel like mine. If it is mine it was conceived not from love or from pleasure but obligation. Does that make a difference?

And what about Annie?

Can I keep this from her? Surely not. Sooner or later she will hear about it so it is better that she hears it from me first.

In the corner of the room a television plays although the volume is turned off. They are broadcasting the press release with Cardea live. I can't hear what she is saying but I know it won't be good.

My phone rings. I look at the name. Fabricius. I really don't feel like talking to him so I press the red button and hang up before I have even answered.

The strange thing is that there is only one person that I want to talk to, even though it will break her heart and hurt her more than it has hurt anyone else. She is the only person who has an opinion I care about.

Automatically my fingers dial her number and, within a heartbeat, she answers.

"Finnick?"

Hearing her voice feels like the last straw and something within my snaps as though someone has cut the final string that was holding all of me together.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

"I have to tell you something," it can't wait. It is no good heading for home and then telling her, it is no good giving her a chance to find out, she has to know now; I have to tell her first.

"What is it?"

I try to remember what I said when I told Eoghan. I try to find some words that make everything sound alright but in reality there is no good way to tell someone you are a prostitute.

"I need to tell you something but I'd appreciate it if you would just listen. You asked me before why I had to keep going back to the Capitol, even when the Games aren't on. Well, the truth is…"I falter slightly, my mouth working faster than my brain can keep up. I don't know how to word this so I decide to focus on the business and try not to use the exact words because I can't bring myself to say them aloud. "The truth is that I am under contract to go."

"What do you mean?"

"Ever since I won the Games it has been as if the President owns me. He makes me do lots of things I don't want to. Often that involves entertaining people who have paid for my company."

There is a pause on the other end of the line.

"Entertaining?" She asks but from the break in her voice I know she understands.

"Yes."

Silence.

I wish I could reach out for her, I wish I could hold her because everything feels better when I am with her but suddenly she seems a long way away.

"I didn't tell you before because…"

"So all those women…?" There is a rising panic in her voice.

"Yes. But I didn't want to. I didn't want them."

"No."

I don't want to break her final straw too. I don't want to tip her over the edge so she spills back into that empty place she goes to when she is no longer here but I have no choice but to go on. I have no choice but to break her heart completely and irreparably.

I glance up at the television. Cardea is still there, sat down on one of the wooden seats on her patio. She is crying- really making a show of it. The news reporter for the channel is sat down next to her, a hand sympathetically placed round Cardea's shoulders.

I try to imagine Annie's face but I can't. I wonder if it is like the time I didn't kiss her, like when I rejected her, like when she was scared and alone in the arena, like in the hospital after the Games? I just don't know.

"There is more." I warn her. "You should turn on your television- the news channel."

There is a pause as she goes to get the remote then I hear the distant murmur of the set. I let her watch in silence, I let her take it all in because there is nothing more I can say. My life becomes suspended in that silence, hovering over for me; waiting to hear what she has to say. I try to hold the silence but after a few minutes, I feel I have to interrupt.

"That's why I needed to tell you now, before someone else does."

Silence.

"I'm sorry."

Not a single sound on the other end of the line.

"Are you still there?"

A sudden gasp. A shuddering sob.

A ball curls up in my stomach and I begin to wonder if I have lost her. If she will just turn away from me, now she knows who I really am- what I really am.

"I'm sorry," I say again. My voice cracking as I drop any straws that haven't already broken into a thousand pieces. I can't lose her. I can't lose her. I feel as though I could burst. There is so much pent up inside me, so many secrets, so much history, and so much fear. There is too much of everything.

"I love you," I tell her. I tell the silence on the end of the phone.

"I love you too," she replies, without missing a beat- flatly, monotonously, a learnt response. I can't tell if she means it.

"Now you know everything," I tell her.


	91. Chapter 91

**Hello- sorry for the delay in updating this story. I found this chapter really difficult to write (for reasons that might become clear when you read it). Anyway, I hope you enjoy it and Happy New Year.**

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><p>I can't resist pressing the switch on the television. Mags and I sit in front of it for most of the way home, watching the fallout. There is devastation and outrage and confusion. There is constant speculation. Rumours fly everywhere and at the centre of it is Cardea, who is constantly reminding everyone about herself, about the baby.<p>

"He was surprised," she tells them, "I think it was the shock that made him go; he didn't mean to leave me. I'm sure he will come round and the three of us will be one big happy family." She repeats the same sentiments over and over- 'he was surprised', 'he will come round', 'we will be a family'. I don't know who she is trying to convince, whether it is the public or herself.

I shouldn't watch it- I should just walk away and have a shower or something to eat- anything but watch the whole fiasco unfold- but there is something about it. It is like when you watch the careers hunting down a victim- you know it is perverse to watch, you know it is tragic, and horrible but something keeps you looking. Whether it is a sort of morbid curiosity or something else, I don't know.

It dominates the news. It doesn't matter what else is going on in the rest of Panem this is the only information that anyone is broadcasting. I waste hours just staring at the screen in silent horror, my mind bending in different ways.

She has to be lying. There is no way she can be telling the truth. I would know if this had happened. I would have seen the condom break or remembered a drunken night of irresponsibility. I would feel it- somehow I would know if I created life.

But then I see her face on the news, hear the sincerity in her voice and I know she isn't acting- she couldn't be. It wouldn't feel that genuine. She must beleive it at least. And maybe I don't remember a moment of conception because afterwards I always switch off that part of my mind. The monster and I are as separate as two different people. The details all get lost in my memories; one night disappears into another. Maybe she is telling the truth.

And if it is the truth what does that mean? Should I look after the child? Am I meant to give Cardea money or support or… what exactly? How could the three of us ever be a family?

"What do you think?" I ask Mags.

"I wouldn't blame you if you walked away from all this."

"But do you think she is telling the truth?"

"Who am I to say?"

"But what should I do?"

She looks across at the television and twists her mouth to the side like she does when she is thinking really hard about something. "You do the only thing you can. You focus on what is most important to you and then, when that's alright, you look at the rest."

"But what am I going to say to Annie?"

"The truth?"

"I already told her the truth."

"Then find something else to tell her. You have to remind her that she is the most important person in your life."

"She is."

"Well I know that."

I flick the channels over, hoping to see something else- something different. I stop when, instead of Cardea's teary face filling the screen, I see President Snow sat with Alba in one of the smaller reception rooms in his vast mansion. The interviewer- Maxima Headley sits at the other end of the sofa, illustrating her sympathy with a calculated tilt of her head.

"And Alba, how does this make you feel? After all, many of us had high hopes for the pair of you."

Alba looks a little surprised by the question and glances across at her grandfather, as if looking for some cue. "Well, obviously I was surprised." She pauses there but she is pressed to continue, "I think it would probably be best if Finnick and I took some time apart, at least until all this confusion has been resolved."

"So do you think the baby is his?"

"Without the results of a paternity test, it is impossible to say." From the way she says it there is a definite sense of indifference but there is also something else there that is much harder to read. I don't feel like I really got a chance to know Alba at all, despite what the press has led eveyone to beleive. I hope this hasn't hurt her. I have hurt so many people already.

"And what about you, President Snow? How has this affected your close relationship with Mr Odair?"

"In some regards, of course, our relationship has changed. On a personal level he is a man who has upset my granddaughter and complicated matters with unnecessary affairs. However, as our shared political stance remains unchanged, I think our professional relationship shall continue as it has."

Trust him to manufacture the situation to suit him. Trust him to make a nod towards sordid deals.

Unable to watch Snow any longer, I finally switch off the television. This, whatever it is, has changed everything.

* * *

><p>I push open the door expecting an awkward hush to be hovering over the house but no sooner than I have stepped over the threshold Annie flies into my arm and buries her face in my shoulder. Holding her, it almost feels as though nothing is wrong.<p>

I suppose she has had a day or so to think it over, I suppose at least it won't be a shock. I'm glad I told her the truth on the platform- she already knows the worst of it and yet she is still in my arms. This, at least, gives me the strength I need to continue.

I hold her there as long as I can, enjoying the silence before the storm but I know it can't last forever. I will have to face the frenzy once more.

"Let's go sit down," I tell her.

She nods silently and wipes tears from her eyes as we walk through to the sitting room where we sit down on either end of the sofa, both of us waiting for the other to begin.

"How do you feel?" I ask her.

"Better than I did."

"That's good."

She looks down at the floor, her eyes slowly travelling across the floorboards to the other side of the room. I wonder what she is thinking of. I wonder if she is actually here with me in this room or if she is a hundred miles away. I pause, waiting to find out. If she is somewhere else I don't really want to call her back but equally this is never going to go away unless we sort it out.

"Finnick?" she says, suddenly turning sharply to look at me again.

"Yes?"

"How come we never… ?"

"Never what?"

Pink rises across her cheeks and she turns away, suddenly unable to look at me.

I know what she means. Why will I sleep by her side in the same bed but never try to do anything more? Why won't I touch her when I have already slept with most of Panem? I have honestly never thought about it before.

She still can't look at me. She is so different from the people I see in the Capitol. They can look sex in the eye and call it by its name but Annie… she doesn't really have a word for it, a way of expressing it. For some reason I can't help but think back to when she tried to kiss me for the first time. She is curious, she knows it is something she wants to be part of, but at the same time it terrifies her.

"Don't you.. want to…?" she continues to stumble over her words.

"Annie-"

"Am I not… do you think I'm attractive?"

I can't help but smile. Dear, sweet, Annie. "You're beautiful," I tell her and never before has a truer word been spoken.

"But I'm not… sexy." She wrinkles up her nose as she says it and her mouth twists to the side as if the word doesn't fit right.

"That's got nothing to do with it."

"Then what?"

Her eyes dart towards the door and she grins, suddenly, unexpectedly. Then the smile grows into a giggle, completely misplaced in the conversation.

"Annie?"

"Eoghan left." She giggles again. "He thought he might throw up if he stayed."

"Good call," I say. For a moment I can picture the expression on Eoghan's face if he could actually hear me using the words Annie and sex in any sentence other than 'me and Annie will never have sex'.

When her eyes meet mine again and the smile dies on her lips, I realise that I have no choice but to explain. "It's not that I don't want you," I tell her. "I love you."

I pause, thinking of what I need to say. For a moment it has me stumped. I love her more than anyone else in this entire universe and yet it has never once crossed my mind. What is wrong with me? It's not like I have never done it before. Sex is such a big part of my life that it makes no sense for it to be absent here- the one place where it should be. Annie is my perfect love story. We are meant to fall for each other and get married and have children and grow old together. Sex is definitely part of that. This is where sex belongs not in a stranger's bed. Somewhere along the way sex has become something completely different to what I used to think it was.

"I love you and in a way that's the trouble."

She's puzzled, doesn't understand what I mean so I continue before she can interrupt.

"You remember what I told you about Snow?" She nods. Of course she remembers. "Well, I don't love those people but I still have to do it. In order to cope with it I sort of have a system where I become someone else- where sex became something else. I couldn't be myself and it couldn't be about love because otherwise I wouldn't have been able to- And I guess because it stopped being about love I just never thought about it with you because I didn't want to hurt you, or humiliate you, or make you feel like a smaller person than you are because that's how I feel when I'm with them. And I could never do that to you."

"You wouldn't. It wouldn't be like that. I love you."

I can't stop myself from shaking my head. "I wouldn't even be in the room." I think of that night with Johanna. Numb at best, I slowly slipped away into oblivion. I don't want that for Annie.

"Who am I to judge someone for not being in the room?"

"I wouldn't be myself. I don't want to be that person around you."

She opens her mouth to say something else, to try and convince me, but I don't even want to think about it anymore. I can no longer stand to hear it. Before any sound escapes her lips I interrupt, "Please, don't make me," my voice is smaller than usual.

Tears, suddenly roll from her eyes and she leans forward across the sofa, throwing herself back into my arms. "I will never make you do anything you do want to," she whispers into my ear and I don't know exactly why but it is like a spell. There is something about hearing those words which makes me well up, though I refuse to give in to it.

"Just remember it's not because I don't love you or want you or that you're not attractive or sexy or wonderful because I don't want to make you believe that either it's just-"

"I know."

"And I'm sorry about-" but I lose the words because there is so much that I am sorry about and I have absolutely no way of explaining it.

"I know."

And suddenly we are both crying together, holding each other as tightly as we possibly can. And all I can think is: she is perfect, she is perfect, she is perfect but that just makes me cry more.

"But what about the baby?" I ask her.

"It's not your baby," she tells me. "It's not our baby, so it doesn't matter.

"No, it really doesn't."

And she begins to laugh- really laugh and I laugh too because I have never felt so awful or so happy or relieved all at once and sometimes laughing is the only thing you can do when you feel like that.


	92. Chapter 92

Consus Delore, Consus Delore, Consus Delore, Consus Delore, Consus Delore, Consus Delore, Consus Delore, Consus Delore, Consus Delore, Consus Delore, Consus Delore, Consus Delore, Consus Delore, Consus Delore, Consus Delore…..

I have read and spoken and thought about that name so many times that it has lost all meaning. It is semantic satiation of the worst kind because not only do the words feel foreign in my mouth, meaningless to my ear, but I have also begun to forget what was so important about that name in the first place.

Then, just when I think I have lost all thrill of the chase, I remember. It comes to me in a nightmare.

He leans over me as I have seen him do a hundred times as I sleep, caught in the fog of dreams- the same grin, the same cigarette clinging to the corner of his mouth. I can feel his weight pressed against me, stopping me from moving. Suddenly I am back there, completely immersed in that night.

He fumbles in his pocket and I hear the sound of cardboard being torn open and the crackle of plastic. His fist rises from his side and he presses his hand against my mouth, pushing something small and oval down my throat. I choke on it, try to spit it out, but he holds his hand over my mouth and I can feel the tablet begin to melt away, whatever it is mixing in with my salvia. He shakes me, trying to force it down.

"Swallow it," he says, gruffly, harshly. So I do, I have no choice. He presses a bottle to my lips, forcing me to drink, the sour taste of alcohol burns down my throat. "There," he says with satisfaction, "Was that really so hard?"

I choke and cough and heave, trying to get the tablet to come back up again but he doesn't let me regurgitate it as he beats me across the face, forcing me back down onto the bed. Everything is telling me to fight but the more I fight against him the more he fights back. With each swing of his fist, each strike of the hand, his desire burns in his eyes, building in intensity. I am so drunk, so tired, that it as if I am fighting through water, the weight of it pushing against every limb. He laughs, amused by my struggles. He isn't a large man but he is as heavy as concrete. Fighting him is futile.

As I begin to lose sight of his face my body jerks into consciousness, his grin still flashing beneath my eyelids. I clutch my bedclothes, rattled by the intensity of the memory that, for whatever reason, comes back clearer and more vivid than ever I lived it before.

Shaky and covered with a cold sweat, I shuffle through to the lounge of my small apartment and switch on the television, looking for relief, but I am only faced with another nightmare.

After months of worry and reassurances, after months of trying my best to forget about everything that appeared in the papers, about Cardea, about the baby, about everything beyond the small bubble of hope that I inhabited with Annie, I am faced with it head-on.

Still caught in a fearsome haze from my nightmare, I struggle to take in the scene. Propped up in a large hospital bed Cardea sits with a newborn baby in her arms- a girl the reporter tells us- 'Victoria Odair', apparently.

Shutting my eyes and covering my ears with both hands, I try to unsee it, to make it disappear to wherever forgotten things go. I try to ignore the muffled questions from the reporter. I would almost rather be back in that nightmare with the illusive Consus Delore because at least that is no longer the present. In a strange way, the past becomes as harmless as a fantasy. I try to turn everything into darkness, to be consumed by nothingness, but a ringing phone pierces the air and I am glued to the moment. I go to it, and turn my back on the television. I don't want to see her face, I don't want to see my own features looking back at me in that bundle of pink blankets.

"Hello?"

"Downstairs, now."

"Sure, Good morning to you, too, Fabricius."

Dressed and carrying the essential items in my pockets, I don't even turn off the television before I leave. I take the elevator to the ground floor and climb into the car, pushing past the gaggle of reporters without saying a word.

Fabricius, looking entirely composed and completely awake, hands me a cup of steaming coffee as the car pulls away. I gulp down the liquid, burning my tongue in my eagerness to try and wake from this string of nightmares.

"I assume you know what this is about?"

"My bastard offspring has been born and you want to tell me the 'correct' turn of events for me to relate to the press."

He raises an eyebrow, "So it is yours?"

"Might as well be. It's what it's being billed as. How are you planning on making this sound good?"

Fabricius opens a large folder and begins looking through some notes. "I have been considering this moment for some time."

"Nine months?"

"Precisely. And the way I see it there are only two ways this can go; either we try to confirm that the child is yours- paternity tests etc. And then you show some level of support for both mother and child or we deny all connections and try to find evidence to prove that the child could not be yours so you can wash your hands of it."

"Can't we just ignore this?"

"It would be a disaster if you did. This is a very delicate situation- Cardea Wanless is an heiress and, as a result, very influential. I would rather you came out of this whole situation with a degree of respectability intact. After all, I'm sure you would hate to make yourself completely useless."

Part of me thinks it would be far better to be useless- to be one of those forgotten victors that no one cares about and who are never asked to do anything. Fabricius would never consider this, however, he could never understand the bliss that comes with obscurity.

"But if she is so influential will it really help to try and discredit her?"

"If the child is confirmed as yours she will achieve immortality. No one else in the Capitol can lay claim to having a victor's child. The novelty value is immense. She will be unstoppable. However, if we prove her to be a liar then no one will listen to her and it won't matter what she says against you. No one trusts the truth from a liar"

What is the truth anymore and why does it matter? Why does it matter what they say? Why is it always so critical what they think about me? I am not a president. I am not important- not really. The way they behave it is as if my every action could change the course of a whole nation. The way they tell it, it could. Perhaps I am the only one who doesn't beleive it.

"But what can we say to make people believe?"

"Jealous onlookers will readily accept anything that would take her down a peg."

"But, if it is mine, how will we prove it's not?"

"Don't worry; I have a knack for rewriting history as I want it to be."

I take another sip of my coffee and glance towards the window. The car is just swinging into the driveway of the President's mansion.

"What are we doing here?"

"The president has been kind enough to allow me use of one of his studies."

"Lucky you." Surely there is nothing worse than having to spend every day working with Snow breathing down his neck, making sure he is doing exactly what he is told. I wonder if the study was offered because of high regard or because Snow wanted to keep a close watch on what he is doing to avoid any more catastrophes like he had with Hydra.

"Yes, lucky me," Fabricius replies, a touch of irony in his voice.

As we step out the car I quickly glance at my watch. It is only 4:30 am. The sky is still dark and the mansion looks so still it could almost be deserted. It is only when we cross the threshold that I see any sign of life. A pair of avoxes scurry away towards a back staircase and the muted tones of a hushed conversation slowly catches my ear from somewhere to my right.

"Follow me," Fabricius says, launching himself up the stairs, two at a time, "And don't wander off."

"Wouldn't dream of it, wouldn't want to catch a glimpse of Snow in his nightie."

"I can assure you, the president is very much awake- and dressed- in a suit."

At the top of the stairs we take the corridor off to the right. Watching the paintings and sculptures closely, I try to figure out if I have been to this part of the house before but it all looks the same to me.

A few metres ahead of us a door swings open and a man, carrying a small bundle of papers, pushes by my elbow. He is as tall as me with oily dark hair. As he passes he throws me a quick grin. He is moving so fast I only see his face for the briefest flash of a moment but that grin stays with me longer than the rest and, although Fabricius is still walking on ahead, my feet refuse to go any further. I turn and watch the man hurry down the steps.

"Fabricius, who is that?" but it doesn't matter what name he tells me, it doesn't matter because I already know him by another.

"Septimus Henge."

Consus Delore.

I am tempted to run after him, to throw myself at his unsuspecting back and pummel him to the ground but, if anything, my search for Consus Delore has taught me subtler means of revenge. I know his name- his real name. I have seen his face. I will be able to find him again.

Casting a final look over my shoulder, I follow Fabricius into the allotted study and allow him to close the door.

"Right," he says, "Let's get down to business."

"Who is Septimus Henge?"

"Just another employee," he says with a shrug. "I was thinking the best way to proceed would be to-"

"What does he do?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss that, if anything it is my job to conceal it."

"Why?"

"This has absolutely nothing to do with the baby scandal."

"What do you have to conceal?"

"Why do you care?"

"Because…"

I can't tell him the truth; I don't want to admit that I am fuelled by something as base and primitive as revenge. There must be some way of convincing him to give up this information. I try to think of everything I know about Fabricius but I soon realise that the information in that list is very limited. Somehow, despite having been to his house, despite knowing him for several years, he has remained something of an enigma.

Why has Snow given him a study in his mansion? Is it loyalty or is it caution? If it's caution there must a reason. In which case we might have more in common than I thought. As soon as he knew I was a traitor Snow drew me closer to him, monitored my every move, so there was no chance I could betray him. Is he doing the same again?

"Because I am trying to make a difference," I tell him. He just laughs, not quite believing me. "You, of all people, know the importance of information. I have been collecting as much as I can- as many secrets as I can- just in case."

"For the Praetorians?" he leans in a little, his voice dropping to a whisper. He knows about my link to them, this could be me giving myself up as a traitor (again) or simply revealling myself to a co-conspirator. My heart thuds heavily in my chest.

"For me," I tell him.

Have I read him right? Is he on our side? He could turn me in or he could give me the answers I crave. I just wish it was possible to read the expression on his face.

He glances towards the door, carefully thinking about his reply. My whole body is tense, waiting for his response, willing for it to be the right one. For a second, everything inside me is suspended, waiting for the truth…


	93. Chapter 93

His gaze fixes on the uppermost point in the top corner of wall, just for the briefest moment. I suspect it is where the security camera is positioned. "Can you help me with my things?" he asks.

It seems completely out the blue. "What? But my questions-"

"Stand there," he grabs my elbow and positions me between him and the corner where he just looked and he hands me his coat. "It's getting terribly old, had it for at least two winters. I could swear it has a hole in it, would you hold it up to the light and see if you can spot it?"

"Er… Fabricius. Should we be-?"

"I haven't been able to spot it myself. If you do that, I need to hunt down my wallet; it seems to have fallen out my pocket."

His eyes catch mine and I think I understand his sudden change in the conversation. I think I have picked up on the clue. I just hope I haven't made it too obvious. I do as he says, making sure I hold the coat up as high as I can, lining it up in such a way that it would eclipse Fabricius from the camera's view.

He pretends to hunt around for a moment then purposefully picks at part of the skirting board. "Can you see the hole?" He asks.

"I dunno, are you sure there is one?"

He takes off the corner of the skirting board- I wouldn't have even known it was removable from just looking at it- and he pulls out a bunch of wires. I guess it is some sort of microphone from the shape of it. His nimble fingers loosen something then he stuffs the wires back inside and replaces the section of skirting board.

I get it- this is the only way we will really be able to talk about any of this. But why keep the camera rolling? … unless… I suppose, a microphone might malfunction on its own- it is probable at least- but what are the chances of both a camera and a microphone malfunctioning at once? That just reeks of deceit.

He scurries round to the other side of the room, still in hunt for his wallet. "I guess not," he says turning back to me. He scoops up his wallet out from under a chair. "Ah ha! Here it is." He grabs the coat from my hands and throws it down with a shrug. "Maybe it will last another year."

He glances towards the door, double checking that it is still closed.

"Right, we can talk freely for a moment but, whatever you do, try to keep your face looking normal and follow my lead."

"Does this mean you are going to tell me what I want to know?"

He takes some papers from his briefcase and pretends to securitise them.

"If I tell you who he is what are you going to do?" he challenges me, testing to see if I can give him the right answer. I still can't tell who he is working for, still can't tell if he wants to know more information so he can reveal me or join me. Is disabling the spying devices in the room just another way of gaining my trust?

"I have something I have to settle with him. It's personal."

He studies me but I can't tell if he is satisfied with my answer. "If I tell you under no circumstances must you ever reveal where you got this information, you understand?"

I nod, still waiting for him to reveal himself, still waiting for the answer to the mystery I have been trying to solve for so long.

He shuffles in his chair, "Can I trust you?"

"For as long as I can trust you, your secret will be safe with me."

"It's not my secret to tell, that's the thing." Another awkward glance around the room, it is as if he expects a repairman to come and fix the microphone at any moment. He sighs. "We don't have much time so I had better get it out as quickly as possible. Septimus Henge is the reason Snow manages to keep his power. Henge has known Snow his entire life. His father was in the same line of business."

"What business?"

"Poison." He says it with a smile and hands the papers he had been pretending to look at over to me. I am glad for the distraction, glad that I have a way of hiding my face. "People have commented on how Snow had never been rivalled- that he is the perfect leader- the truth is he has murdered everyone who has ever come close to taking his place, friends, foes, it doesn't matter- not while he has a Henge to dispose of the unwanted pieces."

I keep looking at the paper, unable to look up, fearing that something might show on my face. It makes sense and, knowing Snow as I do, it doesn't surprise me.

Fabricius continues weaving a web of rumours and snatched pieces of information about people who have fallen at the hands of Septimus Henge or his father. I nod and smile and interject with meaningless statements, hoping it all looks natural on camera.

"How do you know?"

He shrugs. "I told you I have a knack for rewriting history. Part of that is to make sure no one believes there even is such a man as Septimus Henge."

The more I hear the more I come to realise that Henge is untouchable. If I reveal him, if I get my revenge now, I am losing my chance to settle an even bigger score. I need to keep Henge as Snow's poisoner, I need to find out more about it, I need to know everything there is to know so when the time comes I can tell the world exactly who Coriolanus Snow is.

This isn't what I expected. I am almost disappointed that I can't settle it now, that I can't wash my hands of the whole Consus Delore affair but I know I have to have patient. The time will come.

"But why are you telling me? Are you…" I can't help but drop my voice to a whisper, "Are you one of us?"

He laughs, "A praetorian, you mean? No- not guilty."

"Then-"

"Why tell you? You don't have to be a Praetorian to have a conscience. I'd just rather stay alive, you know? Praetorian life-spans aren't all that encouraging. Not everyone has your good fortune."

I get it, of course I get it. It is the same reason all the careers stick together year after year. It isn't that they can't make it on their own; it is just more likely they will make it if they stay as a group. Not every career is a psychopathic killer; they just all have that survival instinct.

"You could get killed for telling me."

"Except you're not going to say anything."

"What if they suspect-"

"Then I'm sure I'll figure something out…. So, what about this baby?" he changes the conversation so quickly it takes me a moment to keep up.

"Can't you work some of your magic to make it disappear?"

* * *

><p>It takes weeks to figure it all out. Of course the whole thing is broadcast live in front of the nation (although there is no audience, thankfully).<p>

Cardea and the tiny bundle that is Victoria Odair sit on one sofa and I sit on another facing them while the host sits in a chair in the middle. There is some general chit chat where they ask Cardea how she is finding motherhood and ask me if I am looking forward to the Games which somehow are only a couple of months away. We answer briefly, politely; no one is here to listen to this, though.

Fabricius made the agreement very clear; I would take a paternity test and, depending upon the results I would either care for the child and treat it as my own or abandon it completely. It is fair enough except for one thing: I have no idea if she is my daughter or not. After talking with Annie, promising that I would have nothing to do with the baby, Fabricius has forced me into a position where I might have to take back my words.

The envelope is brought forward by an avox who hands it to the host. She fondles it as though she is going to announce the results of some large awards ceremony. The baby yawns, completely indifferent to the whole affair, while Cardea leans forward in her seat, anticipating what is to come.

The host's fingers move almost in slow motion as she slips a nail beneath the seal and folds back the flap. The paper is wedged tightly inside the envelope- too large, too important for such a small vessel and she struggles to take it out. My heart hammers in my chest.

"And the results of the paternity test reveal," she pauses as she reads the contents of the envelope, her eyes dart across at me, "That Finnick Odair is _not_ the father."

I can't help but breathe a sigh of relief. This is not my problem, this has nothing to do with me. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!

"What!" Cardea spits, her face glowing red. The baby in her arms wriggles, mewling at the sudden noise. "Give me that," she rips the envelope from the host's grasp and reads the letter for herself, her eyes darting wildly over the words. "But-"

The baby is still crying and she jolts her about in her arms, trying to hush her. For a moment it does. Then the baby stares across at me. I suppose it is only be in my head, but something about the way she glares seems accusatory, as if I have done her wrong. I try to tell myself I am being stupid, that it is all just a trick of my over-active imagination but then I notice her eyes. Her sea green eyes…

For the rest of the interview Cardea tries to contain her anger and frustration as she answers the host's questions. I struggle to string even a few words together. I think both of us are pleased when the cameras are finally switched off.

Cardea rises from her chair and slaps me across the face. "I hope you're satisfied," she yells then she and the baby disappear into another part of the studio and the host runs after her and I am left more or less alone.

I sidle off in the opposite direction, looking to make myself disappear. Fabricius steps out of the shadows.

"Is that really what it said?" I ask him.

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it matters," I begin to shout at him but really I am shouting at myself because I don't need Fabricius to answer that question because the answer is already written there in her eyes. She is mine. "Why did you change the results?"

"You asked for it to disappear, so that's what I did."

"What about Cardea?"

"I'm surprised you even care. It's not your problem anymore. I have done my job."

And suddenly I understand Fabricius. I understand how he can cover up murders and plots and rewrite things as someone demands them to be- because it is his job- because he has no other choice, because at the end of the day he doesn't care as long as he survives.

Part of me thinks I should take it all back- that I should demand for them to turn the cameras back on so I can tell everyone how I lied, how Victoria really is mine, but then I think of Annie. Even if I had a hand in making Victoria she isn't mine, she will never be mine and nothing will be helped by me pretending otherwise.

Maybe I can learn to forget about it. Maybe Fabricius will rewrite history so well that I will be able to forget my mistake. I hope so. I don't want another item to add to my list but I think I already have one.


	94. Chapter 94

I meant to just go home to Annie and be shot of the whole place but of course it is not to be. There is always another client to see, another meeting with Snow, Fabricius, the press or another secret appointment with Plutarch to be negotiated. My train; delayed and delayed again is rescheduled to accommodate all the plans everyone else made for me. I have no say in it. I live on the end of the telephone and hate every moment I don't hear her voice.

On the morning of my planned departure I decide to stay in my apartment, enjoying a few moments of peace before the journey home. Dozing on the sofa, I almost miss the knock on my door. I drag myself to my feet and pull it open without checking to see who it is.

Plutarch pushes passed me and immediately sets to searching the place for devices. I leave him to it and put the kettle on. Something tells me I am going to need a strong coffee before I listen to whatever Plutarch has to say.

A few minutes later he returns, rushing into the kitchen. "I think that's all of them. Right, you need to listen carefully because there isn't much time." He is frantic, excited- unable to quite contain himself. Despite me offering him a seat he is loath to take it, preferring instead to pace the room, getting in my way as I reach for cups and milk and try to make my drink around him. I have to stop myself snapping at him in frustration. I would tell him to leave except I really want to hear what he has come to tell me.

"I know, I have a train to catch," I say, trying to keep my interest from my voice. It's always best to play it cool. It gives me a chance to back out of it or at least pretend I can. I can't think what it is but one thing is clear; something is happening. Something big. It is rare that he comes to find me. There is too much chance that he will be seen, too many people watching me to keep things safe. They must have a job they want me to do. Maybe I will become useful again.

"There are two months until the Games."

"Then I'll be back here. I know." People in the Capitol are always reminding me of when I have to return. I never have a chance to fully get away before they are planning the next visit. Sometimes it is as if I have my feet in two places at once.

"That's not what I mean. We have two months to prepare."

"It must be really hard being a Gamemaker." I tell him, hoping the irony is not lost on him.

"Are you completely blind!?" He suddenly turns, rounding on me, forcing me back against the counter, his face deadly serious. I guess he did miss the irony memo. I reach by him to my cup of coffee and take a sip.

"Now is the time to strike." He thumps his fist down on the counter. He is shouting so loud that everyone in the building must be able to hear what he is saying, recording devices or not. "The more news I hear from the districts the more obvious it is. We need to take action and not just in the Capitol. That is where we have failed in the past. We have overlooked our most important allies. We need to harness their anger and suffering into something we can use and what better platform is there than an already established one? The Games are aired everywhere, this is the perfect opportunity to get our voice heard. We just need the right mouthpiece."

He pauses, looking to me, searching for my reaction but I don't really know what to make of it. It just sounds like the same old promises and intentions to me. What does he know of the Districts? What do any of them know? The way they talk it is as if none of us have minds of our own. We are just pieces that can be played however he likes.

"I don't think anyone would listen to me anymore." Not in the districts anyway. I have no sway there. They are not impressed with waltzing around pretending to be something desirable.

"It is not you I am interested in. It would be too dangerous and you aren't given enough coverage during the Games. What we need is a tribute- one that can inspire people. With the right encouragement we might be able to tip things in our favour. Snow's hold on the Districts is fragile at best. He uses the Games to control them but we can use them to take back the control."

Again, in theory in sounds great but how many lives will be lost to this endeavour? The more I get to know Plutarch the more I begin to wonder if the careful strategist is nothing more than an idealist. It is one thing to think up plans but it is something entirely different to actually make them work.

"But where do I fit in?"

"I want you to find me that tribute. I have thought about it a lot and I think a tribute from District 4 could be the answer. They will have respect being from a Career District but is less under control of the Capitol than Districts 1 and 2. Besides, you would make the perfect trainer. You have always been a loyal supporter of the Praetorians."

"I've never really been much good at mentoring."

"You don't have to be. Find the right volunteer and all the work will be done for you."

He wants me to find a teenager that can change the politics of an entire nation. Yeah, because that is going to be easy. They will have to be charismatic and driven and strong and most of all they are going to have to be real. It would be no good presenting Panem with a machine. Just like any other Games when I mentor any other tribute we will have to find a way for the audience to relate to them. Get them on their side. This time it will be more than just finding a way to impress sponsors, this tribute will have to impress everyone and a thoughtless killer will never be as inspiring as someone they can actually feel sympathy for.

"What exactly do you want them to do?"

"They need to speak up- maybe not play by the rules- show that we are not afraid. This is the one opportunity people have to voice their opinions because it doesn't matter what a tribute does in Snow's eyes- they are probably going to die anyway but if we could just show people- just plant those seeds of revolution in their minds then maybe the resistance can begin, maybe they will begin to realise that they don't have to suffer any more."

"They would just edit it out."

"No, they won't. I won't let them and if we keep them on their toes they won't know when it is going to hit them and it will be too late. The live broadcast is difficult to censor. We have had trouble with it in the past and some moments can't be edited out. Think of Haymitch Abernathy winning by the axe hitting into the forcefield and returning. They may never air it again but it did not go unnoticed."

"But how…?" I have a hundred questions about how this is ever going to work, where I am going to find a teenager who can change the world, how I am meant to train them. There are just too many possibilities for things to go wrong. "What if they win?"

"Even better."

"Snow will punish them."

"Either way they will die a martyr."

"But what about-"

"Are you part of the cause or aren't you?"

The directness of the question takes me by surprise. I don't really feel comfortable about creating a martyr but I still believe in the Praetorians, I still want freedom in the districts and I am still desperate to play a part in winning it. Despite my reservations there is only really one reply I can give.

"What do you want me to do?"

"You need to screen a number of teenagers. Start some training sessions back in District 4 and see what volunteers come forward. Try and get a feel for them, coach only the most promising then make sure the right one volunteers on reaping day."

"What if there is no one suitable?"

"There will be. Or you will have to make them suitable. You have two chances, one male, one female tribute. You will have to make it work."

"Can I tell them about the Praetorians?"

"No. It's best not to give them too much information. Just gently guide them in the right direction. They will come round to your way of thinking."

"You want me to brainwash them?"

"Well I wouldn't put it just like that… I need you to report back to me once you have found suitable candidates and I will have the final say, do you understand?"

"I'm not sure it is the right thing to do. Surely there are better ways?"

"Sometimes a little moral ambiguity is necessary to make a difference. This could bring an end to Snow once and for all. We are relying on you Finnick."

"And what if I decide not to take part?"

"Then we will find someone who will. Either way this will be done."

Sometimes it feels as though I am passed from one dictator to another. It doesn't matter which side I am on I still don't have any choice but to comply. I wonder what other victors Plutarch is in contact with- what other districts he might convince to be involved instead. No matter what I do some teenager is going to be used as a political pawn in a game of chess that I don't even understand. At least if I take them under my wing I will know they are being treated right and I will have a chance to look out for them.

"You have to promise me that they will survive."

"It's not that easy."

"I saw what you did before. You chose last year's winner, you can choose this year's as well."

"As you pointed out, Snow will punish them."

"Better they live and face that than die a martyr to the cause."

He frowns, standing completely still for the first time since he arrived at my apartment. "I'm surprised you think that."

"What do you mean?"

"I would have thought you, out of everyone, would have thought it would be better to lose the Games than win them."

It stuns me a moment as my own words slowly sink in. Before I had thought I had won the games because I couldn't help but fight- it was just too strong an instinct within me. I never thought it would become a choice. The consequences that come with that win are too great. When Annie and Eoghan were in the Games I wanted them to win but I can't say how much of that was because I thought it would be better if they lived and how much was because I couldn't bear to lose them. For a long time happiness didn't even seem possible but everything is so different now. It isn't prefect. It is always going to be a struggle but at times I have happiness and I think that's all anyone can really hope for and that happiness is worth the fight.

"No. It's better to win. It's got to be."

"So can I rely on you to help out?"

"As long as they win. I couldn't coach them in this way knowing they are going to die."

"Very well. I will do my best." He assures me, although, as usual I don't know if his word is to be trusted.

I'm glad when I am on the train and my thoughts can be my own again. Plutarch's plan goes round and round in my head and pieces start fitting together and I begin to see what I need to do. If this works it could change everything. If it doesn't, it will be just another Hunger Games.


	95. Chapter 95

I hardly believe the words as they come out my mouth, "I have gathered you here today because I want District 4 to have another victor. For too long things have been left to chance while other Districts take the initiative and train. I can't hope to prepare all of you but through vigorous try-outs I hope I can find the best of you. That young man or young woman will then be trained by me, will volunteer for the Games and come home a winner- their life changed forever."

They all look up at me, hanging onto my words as if I have something special to say. As if I haven't just told them that I want them to volunteer to face potential death. They seem so young, so naïve. Part of me is desperate to warn them- to tell them to run as fast as they can away from me and my stupid plans.

As I look across at their eager, expectant faces, one thing is clear to me: I have no idea of how I am going to do this. How am I meant to find the most suitable one amongst them when I am not even sure that such a person exists? I can either focus on physical abilities first or mental ones. Looking at the surplus numbers I decide physical might be the best way of whittling them down to a more select few. Although, in the long run, it is the ability to inspire that will be most important to the Praetorians.

"Right, first of all I want you all to follow me."

I set off at a steady jog down the beach and I can tell by the thunder of feet on the sand behind me that they are doing as I asked and are following. I lead them for about a mile. Generally they all fall in line behind me but a few try to be smart and strike out ahead of me- trying to prove they are better than even a victor. As I keep the group running, however, one by one they all drop back- they set themselves an impossible pace to keep up with. Slow and steady will win out in this race. I keep up my steady pace until we reach the end of the beach where the cliffs block the path. Then I turn round to head back to the place where we started. Already the numbers have begun to cut down. I guess some of them were more interested in the fame and fortune than the hard work. Whoever is going to be this year's tribute is going to have to find a way to carry on, no matter what happens. Exhaustion cannot stand in the way of their victory.

When we get back to the starting point, several of the teenagers lean forward to rest their hands on their knees as they catch their breath. Others share high-fives for making it through the run. Some clutch at stitches. Some of them are through already and I have only just begun.

"OK- now do that four more times," I tell them.

Some groan, some leave, but a small group set off down the beach. I knew I needed to eliminate them but I didn't realise it would be that easy. It would be cruel of me to let the ones who can't run the distance stay in the programme. I have only two months to train them- I am going to need someone who has at least some level of basic training because whatever I teach them is going to have to be more specific. Two months is not enough time to create a victor from scratch.

"Why do we need to run?"

I look across at a boy who is hovering on my left shoulder. His cheeks are red from the two mile run but he otherwise seems in good shape. I am surprised he hasn't followed the others down the beach.

"If I am going to train a winner he needs to be fit."

"So you're looking for a coward who can run away at the first sign of trouble?"

"If I am going to train you to use a weapon you need the stamina to keep going. I'm testing stamina through running. It's a valid training method."

He narrows his eyes at me, it is clear that he doesn't quite agree with my methods. "What makes you think you can train someone to win in two months when some tributes would have been training all their lives?"

"Because I won't be starting from scratch. I am only training those with true potential."

"What's in it for you?"

He is touching on dangerous ground. I am running out of answers. How am I meant to sound passionate about something that I disagree with? The truth is in danger of coming out. I can't tell him about the Praetorians and I can't lie. He won't trust me if I don't have some level of vested interest. "Do you want to be trained or don't you?"

"I don't."

"Then I suggest you let me get on with it."

"Do you really think this is a good idea? I mean you can't guarantee whoever you choose will survive. You could have their death on your hands."

"I can do without your opinion, thank you." There is nothing worse than hearing your worst fears being told to you. He is like my conscience talking aloud. Plutarch promised me that the tribute would survive but there are so many opportunities for things to go wrong. Besides, he is running this show, if he says they need to die to get the message across then I am sure they will die, whether or not he promised me anything.

"You're just another part of their system. I would have thought you of all people wouldn't buy into it." He turns his back on me and begins to head away. Something about him seems almost familiar but I can't quite put my finger on it. I make a mental note of his sandy blond hair and his strangely confident stride. He seems so negative towards the whole situation I wonder why he bothered to show up at all.

I stand and wait for the potential trainees to complete the extra miles I have assigned to them. Every lap I see them the numbers decrease until, on the tenth mile, there is only twelve that remain. Perfect. I might actually get a chance to know them in the next session.

By the time they all collapse down on the sand night has fallen. I will have to start training them earlier tomorrow if we are going to fit everything in. I can hardly see their faces as the beach isn't well lit. I hand them cups of water and encourage them to keep moving so they don't seize up.

"Well done, I will see the twelve of you here tomorrow at 10am for the next stage of the selection process."

Maybe I should stay around and check that they are all alright but I don't. They can look out for each other. I didn't sign up to be a babysitter as well.

As I head back home my head keeps repeating the boy's words over and over again. _You're just another part of their system. _Is that what this is? I am working for the Praetorians but in doing so I have to use other people- betray my own beliefs. Does that make me no better than Snow? Is it alright to do the wrong thing for the right reason? I told Plutarch I would do this, I have no other choice. Is this even the right reason? Does that strange man from the Capitol really want the same things I do?

As I approach the victor's village I catch sight of someone further along the row of houses. The boy with the sandy hair nips round the side of Sorely's house. And that's when I realise why I recognised him before. What's his name- Rory? Rordan? Something like that.

"Hey!" I call out and he stops, slowly turning to look at me.

"What now?"

"Are you visiting your uncle?" I have only seen him visit Sorely once before. I wouldn't say they were a close-knit family. I'm surprised that he is visiting now.

He shrugs, "Yeah. I've been visiting him a lot these days considering it's my home now." He jogs down the side of the house, heading for the back door without waiting to see if I am going to speak again. I guess he doesn't want to talk about it. I can't blame him, of course. There would only be one reason why he would go and live with his uncle and I know from experience that when you lose your parents it's generally not something that you want to stop and chat about with a near stranger.

I head up to Annie's house rather than my own. I don't want to be left alone with my thoughts. She is stood at the sink washing up.

"Hello," I say gently, trying not to startle her. She jumps anyway, turning over her shoulder to look at me.

"You missed dinner. If I had known you were coming round I would have made you some too."

"It's alright. I'm not hungry anyway, "I tell her as I grab the tea towel and begin drying up the plate she has left on the draining board.

"How was your day?" She asks, she glances down at the glass in her hand and does a double-take, dropping it into the soapy water as though something about it startled her.

"You ok?" I know better than to ask specifically about what she saw.

"Yeah," she says, rubbing the side of her head- the same place where I often get headaches.

I put down the tea towel and wrap my arms around her. At first she tries to continue washing up but then she smiles up at me, giggling. "I'll never get it done this way."

"Oh well," I tell her. Planting a soft kiss on her cheek. "Maybe some kind pixie will come and do it for you."

She twists round, her hands dripping water onto the tiles and she presses her cheek against my chest. I hold her tight against me.

"Did you want to stay over tonight?"

Involuntarily I feel my body tense. "Sure," I tell her, "It will be nice."

Since our conversation about Cardea I sometimes get the impression Annie is trying to fix me. That, bit by bit, night by night, she is trying to acclimatise me to being near her- trying to train me up so I am more comfortable about having sex with her. She never talks about it and she never oversteps the mark- she isn't bold enough to do that- but I know she wants to feel desirable. She deserves to feel desirable because she is. I wish I could just throw everything into the wind and give in to it but every time I do I feel myself vanishing away to nothing. I want to be there- if this happens I want to be fully myself and fully aware for the first time in my life.

We lie side by side, her head on my shoulder, her hand clasped in mine. She is so small and lovely and the smell of her hair and her skin makes me feel like I am truly home. Maybe I can do this. For her. For me. Because there has to be some part of my life that is my own to enjoy.

I shift my weight and she moves from my shoulder, our lips meeting hungrily. I keep my eyes open, watching her- letting myself take in the unbelievable truth- that she is here- that I am here and it is alright. Keeping her eyes fixed on mine she pushes against me, forcing me onto my back as she presses herself down on top of me. My whole body feels more alive than I have ever known it to be. It is starving, burning, desperate. I let my hands wander up her back, wondering if I dare take this any further. I never once take my eyes away from hers.

She lets out a soft gasp and her lips press tighter to mine. She closes her eyes, letting her lips take over, losing herself in the moment. I keep mine open, though, although they are too close to her to focus. I want her to look at me again. I want her to remind me that it is her and her lovely green eyes and not some stranger. But her eyes don't open and her lips and hands and body caress and explore mine. It should be amazing. I should feel like the luckiest man alive. I should let my bodies' desire take over my mind and just forget about everything but instead I hit a mental wall that won't allow me to let go and suddenly I feel nothing. I am lost and all that remains is the monster.

I turn away from her, twisting my head to the side, gasping for air.

"Finnick?"

"I'm sorry," I tell her. "I thought it would be alright."

"It is alright," She replies, wrapping her arms around me.

My heart thuds in my chest and I watch her, trying to call back that consuming love that makes me want to claim her body as my own. But it doesn't come back. By the time I feel like myself again the hunger is gone and I can't face it anymore.

She switches out the light, kisses me on the check and snuggles up to me. I love her so much. Why can I never get over this?

"I love you," I tell her and something tightens in my chest.

"I love you too."


	96. Chapter 96

"Why do you think you should be our next tribute?"

She looks up at the ceiling, as if the answer I am looking for is written there. The eleventh interview of the day and all I have heard is the same old rubbish that you always hear. What were they thinking? How could this ever work?

"Because… because I think I could win?" Her eyes meet mine and she smiles apologetically. "I'm sorry, I don't know."

"Why did you decide to join the training programme?" I try again, hoping the answer might come more easily than before.

"I just…" she bites her lip.

"What?"

"I don't know," her cheeks flush crimson.

I can't help but roll my eyes. It is always the same old story. "Did you want to have an opportunity to train with me?"

"Yes! I mean…. No… I don't know."

"Well which is it?" So many of the potential tributes today have admitted that the only reason they turned up was to talk to me, to have a chance to train with the legendary Finnick Odair. I guess the new generation have less of a problem with me than people used to. They probably only remember the fame, the money and the glamour. Most of them wouldn't even remember Jeannie.

"No. It's not about that. It's not about you. I just… I'm running out of options."

Something about the way she says it grabs my attention. I look down at the list of twelve names that sits on my lap. Aisling Hayes. 15 years old.

"What do you mean?"

She looks away for a second before turning back. "What would you have done if you hadn't been a tribute?"

I shrug, "Probably would have worked on the boat with my dad."

"Yeah. Exactly."

"So?"

"So my dad guts fish and my mum guts fish – that and looks after six children, all of whom will one day gut fish. We struggle, we starve, we work hard- we keep doing the same thing until we die. It's a dead-end life. So I thought… I thought why not gamble a bit. Either I survive, or I don't. Either way, at least I'm not going to end up gutting fish."

"So you want things to change?"

"Everyone wants things to change but that doesn't mean they will. It's hard to find the energy to change things after spending a day hunched over stinking fish carcasses."

I look her over. She is skinny, true, but not starving. Maybe she exaggerates her family's troubles. Maybe starving is not the word. "You managed to keep up the pace well yesterday. That must be hard when you are starving." When said aloud it sounds a little harsher than I intended.

She narrows her eyes, "You try to starve when you are the youngest in a family of eight."

She isn't good at speaking. She would never be considered eloquent or inspirational but she is the first of all the prospective tributes who has voiced any opinion on the way things are done in the districts. Is that enough to start a revolution? Will they listen to her? She is a strange rabbity thing with too many teeth for her mouth and a constant terrified expression. She definitely won't win them over on looks alone.

"Thank you, those are all my questions. I am going to announce those who are through to the next round of training once I have interviewed the last candidate. Please wait in the lounge."

She nods shyly and gets to her feet, shuffling out of my study to join the rest of them. I jot down a couple of notes next to her name- just enough to remind me of who she was- and wait for the next person to arrive. He barges in a few moments later and walks straight up to my desk.

"Loman Scully," he says, offering his hand.

"Finnick Odair," I tell him, giving him mine.

"You may remember me as the guy who out-ran you on the first run of the trial," he informs me. I do not remember.

He sits back on his chair, slouching into his seat. I wouldn't be too surprised if he put his feet up on the desk. He is large and cocky and the epitome of what a career tribute should be. If this was another year and I was just any mentor training any tribute then maybe I would have been pleased but as it is I couldn't care less. He is just the sort of tribute I used to think I had to be. He is the sort that I have grown to hate. We won't change anything by doing the same old thing.

"Are you going to ask me some questions now?"

"I think we're done here," I tell him, getting my feet and opening the door for him. There is no point wasting my time.

"What? But you haven't asked me anything."

"You're done," I tell him. I've had enough of this. If I have to spend an extra two months training tributes I would rather not have to spend it with arrogant brats.

"You're putting me through?"

"No."

"That's a bit unfair."

"It's my decision."

"You didn't even give me a chance." The cockiness has gone. I'm glad I put him in his place.

Dazed, he gets to his feet and shuffles towards the door. "Is there nothing I can do to change your mind? I will work hard. I have been training before."

I don't reply but make another gesture towards the door.

"It's because I outran you, isn't it? You couldn't stand the competition. You want to be sure that you're the only one people pay attention to. You couldn't stand it if someone else took your place."

"Yeah, that's it," I say, unable to hide the sarcasm in my voice.

He swears at me under his breath and storms out of my house, kicking at the flower pot that sits just outside my front door. I will probably see him again- It would make things too simple if he just disappeared into the ether. Things are never that easy.

I go through to the lounge where the final eleven remain, waiting for my decision. I was too busy showing Loman the door to make my final notes. So when they all expectantly look up at me I feel completely lost. I still haven't made a final decision.

"I have thought very carefully about who is to proceed onto the full training course," I say, stalling for time while I try to decipher the scrawled notes I made. "Five of you have been chosen." My eyes scan the list looking for positive comments.

Thoughtful, intelligent, good speaking voice- "Kennedy Rice" 16 years old. A tall boy gets to his feet, moving over to the space I indicate for him to stand just to my right.

The others look up at him- jealous- hopeful- expectant. I look down at my list again.

Determined, focused, a need to prove himself- "Carbry Whelan" 17 years old. He is small with sandy hair and a face full of freckles. He looks younger than his years. He joins Kennedy in the line.

The tension in the room rises again. Another space has been taken. Only three places remain and nine hopefuls.

Confident, Attractive, appealing, - "Kelly Teague" 17 years old. I know what the Capitol likes after all. But when she stands I see that she is pretty- although not as pretty as my notes suggest. She wedges herself between the two boys, leaning on them, smiling up at them as though this is some sort of matchmaking ritual. I get the feeling she will not last long in this process.

I scan the list again. It takes me longer to find a suitable name- my eyes keep falling on the same three tributes I have already announced.

Eager, Mouldable- "Edan Durwin." 15 years old. He is a little dazed when he gets to his feet- obviously didn't believe he would be chosen. It is not until he exchanges high-fives with the other boys that his pleasure at being picked can be seen on his face.

"And…" My eyes dart up and down the page looking for someone, anyone who could fill the final spot. "Aisling Hayes." 15 years old.

It had to be her. Wanting things to change is the first step of many.

"Thank you to all of you for coming along today. I am sorry that I could not offer you all a place on this course. Some of you will have an opportunity to reapply next year. Those of you that have not been chosen, you are free to go."

Several of the rejected linger around the front, waiting to talk to me. They want to know why they weren't chosen- what they could have done- would I reconsider- desperate to tell me they had so much to offer- that I'm the one missing out. So many young people, all of them eager to die- not even understanding the cause behind the recruitment.

I try to make jokes to brush them off, to try and make light of the situation, and eventually they begin to move away.

"The rest of you will begin your training tomorrow. In the mornings we will focus on physical fitness. I expect all five of you to be here from 6:30am for our morning workout before you go to school. When your lessons are over we will have four hours of training. In the first two hours we will focus on weaponry and the final two hours will be dedicated to tactics, public personas and eloquence. Being a victor is as much about how you conduct yourself as it is about fighting in the arena. If you can't get sponsors on your side then you might as well give up. Get lots of rest tonight, you'll need it."

I watch them leave. Rordan- I think that's his name- sits outside Sorley's house watching the winners and losers. I am surprised to see him. Maybe it is coincidental that he decided to sit on the porch but I can't help but think it is because he is interested to see the outcome of today's trials. I wave to him- making it obvious that I have seen him sat there. He retreats into the house without giving me even a smile in acknowledgment.

* * *

><p>I awake in the middle of the night to a constant squealing of the telephone. Why do people have to call at such anti-social hours? It is cold outside my covers; I can feel a draft wafting in from a window I forgot to close. I don't want to get up.<p>

But I know it will be Fabricius or Plutarch or another Praetorian- someone who wants to check up on me or ask a favour of me. I have no choice but to comply. The constant noise stops for a second as the line cuts out then a new waves starts again. I groan. There is no way of getting past this.

I slide out of bed and slip on my dressing gown. The cold night air makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

I lumber down the stairs, half tripping over the tie of my dressing gown and try to focus as I pick up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"How's it going?" Plutarch. How's what going? The potential tributes. Yes. He wants to know about their training. I try to remember what happened but my mind is still caught in a dream.

"I have chosen five," I tell him but I wouldn't have been able to tell him their names, even if I tried.

"And?"

"And we'll see what happens." There is nothing else I can say. It is too soon to know if we have someone who will be able to tip Panem over the edge.

"Anyone that stands out?"

"There was one girl who seemed at least vaguely politically minded."

"A girl?"

"Yes. A girl."

"I thought maybe a boy would be more… "

"More what?"

"Well…. " he coughs, splutters over his words, until he thinks he has covered it and then promptly changes the subject. "Have you heard of Vulcan Janes?"

"No? Should I have?"

"He used to be in charge of the Peacekeepers but since returning to the Capital he has been causing a bit of a stir."

"In what way?"

"He seems to have developed an underground following. God know where from. Politics in the Capitol always falls on deaf ears."

"But Snow…"

"My understanding is that he knows about Snow's…. methods."

"But even if he does…" that doesn't mean he is immune to poison.

"Anyway, I have run out of time. I will call you again in a few days for an updated report. I'm expecting great things…"

At that he puts down the phone and I am left holding the empty receiver, staring blankly off into space. Why tell me about Vulcan Janes? What difference will he make?


	97. Chapter 97

Still unable to figure out the significance of what Plutarch said, I shuffle through to my lounge. I'll never be able to get back to sleep now. Sometimes exhaustion isn't enough. If my mind has other ideas I know there is no use in fighting it so I might as well try and get things done.

I sit on one of the sofas and try to figure out how I am going to pass the time. I need to be awake for tomorrow. I have lots of preparations to do before I train the potential tributes. I will have to get training weapons and targets and find enough space to practice in, I will have to prepare strategies and think about interview techniques and try to do all the things that I have never quite learnt how to teach someone else to do. Even when Annie and Eoghan were tributes I never found the right way to teach them to survive. I may have been a natural in the arena but that has only made it harder for me to understand how to teach someone else to react in the right way. I never really had to think about it, after all, it just happened. I can't imagine what it must be like to enter the arena without the right instincts to guide me.

I rub my temple, staring blankly ahead. Just outside the window a small red light flashes, I see it out the corner of my eye. I blink and turn to face it directly but it is still there. A red light? Immediately my mind jumps to snipers and lasers but then I realise that there would be a beam of light would be pointing inwards if that was the case.

As quietly as possible, I get to my feet and tiptoe towards the back door. Hopefully, I will be able to sneak up on whatever- whoever- it is and take them by surprise.

I walk carefully, my bare feet hobbling over the pebbles. I can still see the red light about five metres away stood on the small channel of grass than runs down the side of my house between the lounge wall and the fence. It is too dark to see anything other than the light. I can't see what it belongs to or if anyone is there, I do, however, begin to hear the quiet crackling of static.

I take another step closer. Then another. Something sharp pierces the soft arch of my foot and I leap into the air, tumbling against the side of the house. I muffle the cry that escapes my lips but not well enough. I hear the sound of something scuffing the ground and footsteps plodding through the wet grass. The red light begins to move away into the distance.

"Wait!" I call out, already in pursuit, despite the pain in my foot. The distance between me and the red light narrows until I feel as though I could almost reach it. I launch myself through the air- throwing my arms out as wide as I can. I land on top of something- someone- and I pin them to the ground. The red light rolles off just a few feet ahead of us. I can still hear the static crackle it emits.

"Who are you?" I demand. I struggle, trying to get a good view of whoever it is but it is still too dark. I don't have a light on me. It is impossible to see. The person doesn't answer. "I think you should come inside."

I grab what I can- I find an arm and twist it behind their back as I drag them to their feet. Whoever it is they are shorter than I am and dressed in dark clothing. I push them forward until we stand by the device with the red glowing light.

"Pick it up," I tell them. They obey, pulling us both forward as they stoop to pick it up. Then I pull them with me back to the house, forcing them back down the stretch of grass where I found them to the back door.

As soon as we step into the kitchen I slam on the light. I pull down the hood which is covering their face and finally get to see the intruder.

"Rordan?" I stand in front of the doorway, blocking his escape, while he pulls himself upright, holding a square box in his hands- the red light still flashing next to a switch. I nod towards it. "What is it?"

"I didn't mean any harm," he says quickly, backing away as if afraid I might hurt him.

"What is it?"

"I found it at my uncle's place."

"What's it do?"

"I just wanted to try it out. I didn't know that it would… I didn't know you… "

"What does it do?" I say again, this time a little louder. What is going on?

"It taps into phone calls. Let's you listen in but I didn't know…."

Shit. My mind races back to the conversation with Plutarch. What would he have heard? What did we say? We didn't mention the Praetorians, did we? Why is he listening in anyway- is he working for someone?

"What did you hear?"

"You're trying to fix the games." He narrows his eyes, suspiciously. "That's how you know we are going to have another victor. You and that Gamemaker are trying to…" but he doesn't know how to continue that sentence.

"Why were you trying to listen in? Are you working for someone?"

"No. I just- I just found it and I thought I'd try it out. I didn't think… I just thought… I just found it and when I turned it on I heard your voice. The reception was kind of bad so I went outside. I was just curious. I didn't know what it did. I didn't mean to overhear anything."

I take a good look at him, trying to figure out if he is telling the truth. I want to believe him. Everything tells me that I should- the fear in his eyes, the shock on his face, the way his hands tremble, but still I have to be suspicious. If he tells anyone it could be the end of everything. I barely escaped being found out last time, this time I am sure Snow will not be so lenient.

"Honestly," he adds.

"I think we need to have a chat," I say.

"Alright."

"Why don't you take a seat?" I tell him, gesturing towards the table and chairs in the corner.

"Alright." He places the device down on the worktop and takes a seat where I told him to. The red light still flickers and the static splits through the air driving me half insane so I flick the switch and the whole thing dies.

Now the excitement of the chase is over the clouds of exhaustion begin to seep back in making it hard to think straight. "Would you like a drink?" I ask, already tipping three heaped spoonfuls of coffee into a mug for me.

Once again he replies, "Alright."

When both drinks are ready I carry them over to the table and sit down opposite him. "Firstly," I begin, "I need to make sure you are not going to repeat anything you heard, or anything that we discuss tonight."

As I say these words panic begins to kick in. What if he doesn't agree to keep everything secret? What will I have to do? I would have no choice but to kill him- that or convince him to change his mind. If this information gets out then we are done for. Everyone. Me. Plutarch. Annie...

"Depends what it is you are doing?" Rordan says and I can see that he is just as suspicious of me as I am of him.

"We'll get to that." I tell him. "Firstly, do you know why Sorely has this…" I don't really know what to call it but I gesture towards the machine.

"No. I was just looking through his old things in the attic. It was covered in dust. I don't think it had been used for years."

I wonder if I should question Sorely but if I do then he will have questions of his own and I will have to tell him everything as well. At least if Rordan is telling the truth and it hasn't been used it is unlikely that anyone else has been using the device to listen in on my conversations before now.

"Why do you want to fix the games?" He asks again.

I sigh. I am going to have to give him some sort of explanation otherwise he won't understand what is going on. I take a large gulp of my coffee and wait as I feel it run down the back of my throat, goving me a little clarity. "We are trying to change things," I tell him. "We have a plan- I can't go into details- but it involves the Games. If everything goes as planned then we want to make things better in the districts."

He raises both his eyebrows in surprise. "But how?"

"I can't tell you that. I don't know everything, anyway. There are lots of people involved. All I know is that I have to find the next victor and train them."

"But if they haven't told you what's happening, how do you know you can trust them?"

"I've been working with them a long time."

"The Praetorians?"

It is my turn to be surprised.

"I know a lot of what is broadcast is rubbish but some things stick in your mind. You don't really work for Snow, do you?"

"No."

"I thought it was all just part of some sick plan. No victor has any right to encourage people to through what they did." I nod. If i was on the other side of this plan I would have thought the exact same thing. "I think I get it now, though," he adds.

"So you're going to keep quiet?"

"It depends."

"On what?"

"I want in."

"What do you mean?"

"You need a victor- I want it to be me."

"Sorry but I already have five to train. If you wanted to be involved then you should have stuck with it." Five potentials are five too many. I am not cut out for this.

"But it's different now. I know what you are trying to do. Surely that's better? They are walking blindly into this but I understand what you are trying to get done. I think I could help."

"I don't know…" He's average build. Smart enough. Confident.

"If I'm involved you can be sure I'm not telling anyone else about it. I would get into as much trouble as the rest of you if I did"

"Why do you want it?"

"I've got nothing to lose so I might as well try to make a difference." I believe it too. I can still remember the expression on his face as he told me he lived with Sorely now. Whatever happened to his parents, it was bad.

"Alright. But you'll have to earn it. I'm not going to give you a free ride. There are three other boys. If you are the best at the end of the training then I'll choose you, if not then I'll pick them, understand?"

He nods.

"And either way you don't tell. Right? We're talking life or death, here."

"I get it," he says. "You're going to pick me, though."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Thanks to tonight I already have something more than the others; the truth." He gulps down the last of his coffee, grimacing at the taste- I guess he isn't much of a coffee drinker, and then he slips from his chair. "I should be getting back. It's late… early… whatever."

"What about this… machine?"

"You can keep it. Think of it like a… deposit on keeping my word. I'm not going to be listening in on any more conversations."

"Glad to hear it. I'll see you after school," I tell him.

He salutes to me then leaves by the back door.


	98. Chapter 98

I don't know if I can trust Rordan. The more I get to know him, the more I think about the night I caught him listening in on my conversation, the more confused and suspicious I feel about the whole thing.

Why would Sorley have that sort of equipment in his attic? Is it too much of a coincidence that Rordan happened to be listening in at that precise moment? Does he really want to make a difference? There hasn't been much evidence to suggest he does and yet, at the same time, if his plan had been to sabotage everything why hadn't he joined my trainees in the first place? Why make such a big show of standing up to me? Unless that is all part of his elaborate plan to put me off his trail?

I turn over again and flip my pillow so I can lean on the cool side. Annie lets out a sigh and the bed shifts as she turns over as well. I am keeping her up with all this thinking.

I should have known that weapons training would get off to a slow start. Most teenagers simply don't have the opportunity to use weapons. Physical training tends to be crude in District 4. They practice, aim, stamina, footwork, basic technique but still most don't even touch a real weapon before they go to the Capitol. That's the trouble with not having an organised training ground like they do in districts one and two.

Out of the original five I chose Carbry is the best at weaponry but that is mostly down to sheer determination. He just won't give up, even when he probably should. Even when Edan had accidently given him a black eye, he couldn't breathe from exhaustion and he dropped his weapon he still kept going. He is relentless. He is nothing compared to Rordan, though. That guy actually seems to know what he is doing and has the technique to go with it. I had hoped that Edan or Kennedy would show more promise. If they stood a chance then the whole process would be simpler but the more Rordan out-performs the rest, the more inclined I am to choose him and the more complicated this all becomes.

What if I choose him and he turns out to be a traitor? All of us could be finished and it would all be my fault. I have considered trying to contact Plutarch to see if he could get a background check on Rordan but I have gone off making phone calls since learning my line is not secure (despite still having the machine). My unease tells me that I should just choose one of the other boys but, when I let myself admit it, I know that none of them have what it takes to make it. We still have a couple of weeks left but I am not a miracle worker.

And the girls? I don't know about the girls. I have been pretty set on Aisling from day one and I suppose that hasn't changed. I just wish she wasn't such a nice person.

When I invited the six round to join us all for dinner the others seemed unsure of what to say to Annie. I have seen it a hundred times. They falter; they struggle to start a conversation because they don't know what to say to someone who is 'mad'. It's as if they think it's catching- as if it is somehow her fault that she has been damaged beyond repair. As soon as they stuck that label on her back in the Capitol the rest of the world seemed to stop seeing her as a person. She thinks differently from them and that is enough of a reason to be afraid. Yet Aisling didn't miss a beat. She spoke to Annie the same way she speaks to everyone else. Even when Annie, out of nervousness, began muttering to Eoghan she just discreetly turned the conversation elsewhere to give Annie a chance to recover. I even saw them chatting alone at the end of the night. I'm glad. Now Hake is gone she only really has me and Mags to talk to. Knowing this just makes things even harder, though.

I don't want to have to choose. I don't want to be the one putting someone else in that kind of danger. This shouldn't be my responsibility. Plutarch promised that the 'chosen one' would survive but whoever the other one is won't. I have to choose two people for the games knowing that one of them is going to die. Maybe it would be better if I didn't. Maybe I should just train them all and leave it up to them to volunteer on reaping day. At least that way it is not my fault.

Suddenly it is as the covers are strangling me, wrapping around me like the coils of a boa constrictor. I throw them off with such force that they fly off Annie as well.

"You need to just sleep," she tells me, trying to keep her annoyance under control.

"I know that." Every night I tell myself I need to sleep- that this will be the night that I put all my worries aside and just let exhaustion take me- and every night is just the same as the one before. It's been over a month. "But I can't"

"If I can sleep through Eoghan crashing about downstairs then I'm sure you can sleep through this."

I roll over again, wrapping my arms around her, playfully. "Eoghan's downstairs, eh?" I keep it light, ignoring the familiar pang in my chest that hits me every time I think of Eoghan. He is still such a big part of our lives, even after all this time.

"Yeah, he's making pancakes."

"Then he won't mind if I do this," I trace a trail of kisses going up the back of her neck and curling round towards her collar bone.

Annie yawns, moving away. "He doesn't mind but I do. Go to sleep, Finnick. "

"I thought you wanted things to get a bit... Sexier," I said, mocking my ridiculous persona by purring the last word in the same way I do in the Capitol.

She groans. "Alright, you just go for it, I'm sure I can sleep through it."

"How can you even suggest that? I'm hurt," I tell her as I tickle her stomach. She elbows me in the gut, pushing me away.

"I'll make something really hurt if you don't let me sleep soon." She says, putting her pillow over her head.

"Alright," I tell her, "I'll go see how Eoghan is getting on with those pancakes."

I get up, recoiling slightly when my feet hit the cold tiles. I pull on a jumper over my pyjamas and head downstairs.

I have become hopelessly familiar with early morning television. It is the co-star of my insomnia. I flick the switch ready to watch the familiar reruns of old Games and the various newsreels that appear at fifteen minute intervals. I glance across at the clock. It's 2:15.

No wonder Annie isn't pleased. I shouldn't have stayed over. I wouldn't have except she said she wanted me to get used to sleeping next to her again. As if that is the problem. We aren't in the habit if sharing a bed. Annie wakes up screaming most nights under some delusion or terrified by some nightmare. I used to stay with her so I could reassure her, hold her, tell her everything is alright, but since my own sleep problems have kicked in again it has made less sense to share a room as it usually just means that the two of us lie awake all night.

A newsreader reads out a series of headlines with the same peppiness as they would use in the middle of the day. Nothing affects the relentless cheeriness of the Capitol. The newsreader is halfway through telling me about the new fashion lines that have been showcased this week and I am about to turn the whole set off when the picture jumps and the feed skips.

A man in a suit sits at a desk with about ten microphones carefully positioned in front of him. Behind him on the wall there is a flag which I do not recognise. Instead of the familiar red flag of Panem with the Eagle and Laurel leaves he has a different flag. It is predominantly made up of red and white stripes but the top left hand corner has a blue rectangle with white stars on. I don't know what it is meant to mean.

The picture flickers a bit but holds steady once the man begins to speak.

"I am Vulcan Janes and I am addressing President Snow the only way I know I safely can. For too long this country has sat in a political slump. We have become a fossil nation, caught in the same ways we have been caught in for many years, but we cannot sustain this, we cannot allow this to continue.

"I have been to the Districts. I have seen the way the people starve and are forced to perform hard labour for little gain. They are no longer treated as citizens, they are treated as slaves while the rest of us consume relentlessly until there is nothing left for anyone else.

"You have had your say, President Snow, so allow me to finally have mine. There once was a time when this land gave everyone a voice- a chance to express how they thought their country should be run- where they were not imprisoned in a dictatorship but lived freely in a land of democracy. Imagine a place where politics were changing all the time- where policies responded to the needs of the people- it might not have been perfect but at least every person had chance to voice their opinion.

"A long time ago our current government made sense- it was what we needed to get us through the dark days but now it no longer makes sense and we need to adapt to our changing world. It is for this reason, Snow, that I demand a senate meeting to discuss and vote on the future of our country. I say demand because I am giving you no choice. I give you two weeks to announce publically the time and location of the senate, else I will take over the airways again and, I assure you, if it comes to it, I will not be as kind as I have been today. After ten years of servitude I have gathered some information that I am positive you would not like to be broadcast. I think two weeks is more than fair. I suggest you don't waste your time trying to find me, my location is entirely secure. This broadcast shall be repeated daily at random until I hear from you. I await your reply and I hope to see you at the meeting."

At that the transmission finally flickers out. It takes a moment for the regular programming to resume and when it does everyone acts as though nothing has happened. Do they know that the interruption happened? I'm not sure. I have never seen anything like this ever happen before. No one has publically spoken out against Snow like that. I don't know whether that makes Janes brave or stupid.

Suddenly I am wide awake, a million questions whizzing through my mind. How can Janes dare to stand up to Snow? Will he really be able to make a difference? What if Snow refuses to arrange a meeting? I know Plutarch said Janes had started to get an underground following but I had never imagined anything of this magnitude. I guess we aren't the only ones who feel that we are standing on the cusp of change. Surely Snow can't ignore that message? Surely no one can.

A shiver runs up my spine and my stomach lurches. History is being made. This time next year maybe everything will have changed.


	99. Chapter 99

I watch as the six return their equipment for the last time. This is it. There is no other opportunity for them to impress me, no other opportunity for me to find out more about them. They have either made it or they haven't.

"Finnick?"

I glance up to see Rordan hovering next to me. I tighten up the string on the kit bag I use to store all the training weapons and sling it over my shoulder as I head off back towards home. "What now?"

"I know you don't trust me," he says.

I can't help but snort.

"But everything is not as it seems. I know we didn't meet under the best circumstances but I hope I've managed to change your mind. I really want this."

"The problem is I still don't understand why."

"I already told you."

"Having nothing to lose isn't a good enough reason." I quicken my pace, hoping to leave him behind but he charges after me, he obviously isn't finished with this conversation, even if I am.

"Why did you join the Praetorians?"

"I don't see why that is any of your concern." Like I am going to tell someone I don't trust my whole life history. Again I try to shake him off but he is persistent. "Look, Rordan, I really don't think there is anything you can say that is going to change my mind about you."

"So you aren't going to choose me?"

"I can't work with someone I don't trust. I hardly know you." Despite training with him all this time he has given nothing away. All I know is how good he is at training, everything else is a mystery. It makes me think he really does have something to hide.

"Then get to know me."

"Don't you think it's a bit too late for that?"

"Ask me anything and I'll answer it truthfully- I swear I will. I really want this."

I stop, throw down the heavy kit bag at my feet and look at him- really look at him. He probably expects me to ask why he was listening in on my phone call or why I should chose him or why he is so desperate all of a sudden to be this year's tribute but at the last minute another question pops into my head. It is the kind of question that I know from experience he will find it a lot harder to lie about.

"What happened to your parents?"

I can tell the question takes him by surprise, he looks baffled for a moment, sadness itches at the corner of his eyes but he manages to rein it in. He shrugs. "They're gone."

"I guessed that but why?"

He turns, nervously looking over his shoulder as if he half expects to see someone else listening in on our conversation. "Can we… can we go inside?"

"All right."

Together we walk in silence back to the Victor's Village. He fidgets, although he tries to hide it. I try to think of something to say that will fill in the awkward silence but my mind is too jumbled- too full of the decision I know I will have to make before tomorrow. So the silence remains.

I lead him into my house and throw the kit bag down in the hallway as I continue through into the kitchen. "Would you like a drink?" I ask him, mirroring the very first time we were in my kitchen together.

"No thanks," he says, slipping into one of the chairs.

I sit down opposite him and wait for him to explain but he just sits in silence. "What happened to your parents" I ask again.

"You saw," he shrugs, "Everyone saw."

"What do you mean?"

"They were arrested and sent to the Capitol."

"Why?" I try to remember the details of criminal arrests of the past year but I draw a blank. I cannot remember even their faces, let alone their crimes.

"I don't really know the details. They had this radio transceiver in our shed. They would use it to talk to people- I don't know about what. They wouldn't tell me. I wasn't meant to know at all but I found out. I think… I think they spoke to someone in the Capitol- he had that sort of accent. But sometimes it was other people. I don't know why, though, and I don't know what they said. They thought it was safer for me not to know. They questioned me when they were arrested but they decided I'm not a threat. I guess it's just as well they don't know"

Rightly or wrongly my mind instantly thinks of Hake. That's the sort of job the Praetorians wanted him to do in twelve. What if he had been talking to Rordan's parents? What if they had discovered him as well? What if he had been found and we didn't even know?

"They're avoxes?"

"I guess so. It's not like they let them write or anything."

"Is that why you want to be a tribute? So you can go to the Capitol and see them again?"

"Yes… No… I don't know. I don't know if I want to see them like that."

"Then why do you want to go?"

"I didn't at first. I thought you were just like the rest of them but then I heard you talking about the Praetorians. That's who my parents worked for. They obviously thought it was right so I thought that maybe I should work for them too- continue my parent's work by becoming a victor, you know?"

Yes, I know. Finally everything begins to fall into place. Finally I understand. I would have done the same. By working for the Praetorians at least it adds some meaning to what happened. At least he can make things worthwhile so their lives weren't destroyed for nothing. I would have done the same thing for my parents. I am doing the same thing.

"So I don't mind if you choose someone else because you think they are better than me but I do mind if it's because you don't trust me. We are on the same side."

"Thank you, Rordan, I appreciate you telling me all this. Now, I think it's best for you to go, I have a decision to make."

He nods and gets to his feet, offering me his hand before he leaves. I knew this decision wasn't going to be easy.

* * *

><p>I sit with my dinner perched on my knee as I still try to figure it all out. I let the television drone in the background just so I don't have to hear myself slowly chewing my food.<p>

When the feed cuts out and skips to another I realise that I am not the only one who has been pondering a big decision.

President Snow mirrors Janes in his announcement. He sits in front of the red flag of Panem, talking into a cluster of microphones. On occasion he looks down; searching his notes for the next thing he wants to say but mostly he keeps eye contact, his face cold and serious.

"As you are aware, Mr Janes, from our previous acquaintance it is not in my nature to bow down to threats. However, it seems that on some points we are in agreement. Contrary to your suggestion it is not my intention to keep the politics in this country 'fossilised' and so I am pleased that we are blessed with a citizen like you who is brave enough to remind us to keep things current. I think it is important that we meet to discuss the future of this country so we can move forwards into a bright and happy future. We all know Rome was not built in a day. However, there must have been a moment when the great founders came together and decided that it should be built. And we too shall have that day. I propose we meet in the afternoon before the Opening Ceremonies with a senate of devoted citizens and we shall vote for our future. Long live Panem!"

I'm sure I'm not the only one who shudders as his eyes glare at me from the television. Even though it is impossible, just looking at him seems enough to make the smell of roses waft uncomfortably up my nose. Is that going to be Janes' fate just like it has been for everyone else who has opposed Snow?

I should be pleased about this announcement. It should seem like the beginning of something new. Outside my window I can see people gathering in the town, candles glowing in their hands. Yet I know that this won't change a thing. Anything that comes out of President Snow's mouth is probably too good to be true. This won't be the start of anything new. I'm sure of it. It will just be the end of Vulcan Janes. When did he ever think that he could win? I resist the urge to call Plutarch.

The room grows dark as I contemplate the six pieces of paper. Which two am I going to choose? I have written out all eight possible combinations. I have matched them up, tried to figure who would work the best together. I have written out lists upon lists stating the pros and cons of each individual and each team. I have drawn their names out of a hat at random then returned all the pieces when it didn't turn out the way I wanted it to. I have tried to picture each of them winning- tried sorting them into victors and losers but there is one major problem; The Hunger Games cannot be predicted. No matter what Plutarch says there is no guarantee on who is going to survive.

* * *

><p>"Welcome to the seventy-third annual Hunger Games," Augustus Parke says to the assembled crowd.<p>

I sit with my hands knotted in my lap. I hope I have made the right decision. I hope I don't regret this.

I don't have much time to think about it, as suddenly the names are being drawn from the reaping ball. Girls first- of course.

"Opah Osprey." A pretty girl with tightly curled hair steps forward onto the stage.

"Are there any volunteers?" Augustus asks by way of protocol, little knowing that this year there would be.

"I volunteer!" Just as planned Aisling runs forward and clambers onto the stage to give Augustus her name. The crowd cheers and Opah, gratefully returns to the other fifteen year olds.

I search the crowd, looking for the boys, hoping that this part of the plan will also go just as planned. Augustus draws the name, reads it aloud, asks for volunteers and, even before he has had a chance to finish his sentence Rordan is there. And so is Loman Scully.

I'm on my feet. What is he doing here? I didn't even want him on the training programme. Why is he here? This wasn't part of the plan. In all my worry and anguish it had never once crossed my mind that maybe two volunteers would step forward. It simply didn't cross my mind. I am not prepared for this.

"Two volunteers. Oh my…." Augustus says, suddenly unsure of what he is meant to do. "Well… I believe that in this… situation we should toss a coin to decide who should be this year's tribute." He pats down his suit looking for a coin but looks awkwardly out towards the crowd when he realises he doesn't have one. "Er… does anyone have…." Luckily Paddy steps forward and gives him one to use.

"Heads or tails?" Augustus asks Rordan.

"Heads," Rordan says, looking fiercely at Loman. I can hear some muttering between them but they don't speak loud enough for me to hear.

The coin flies up into the air, spinning as it does. Everyone watches it go. My whole body tenses as it falls onto Augustus' outstretched hand. He covers it for a moment, allowing for a dramatic pause then finally pulls his hand away.

"Tails."


	100. Chapter 100

It's late morning in the Capitol and while Loman and Aisling are prepared for tonight's opening ceremony I seek out Plutarch. We meet on the roof of the training centre where the wind carries away our words- where I pretend to stumble upon him as I seek out some fresh air.

I tell him everything that happened. I explain in detail about the training I underwent with each of the six tributes and how everything fell apart at the last moment.

"There was nothing I could do about it."

"So that leaves us with…" Plutarch looks around, as if expecting the answer to be written in the clouds but still it doesn't come to him.

"The girl, yes."

"Hmmm," he says. I get the impression that he is not impressed with Aisling. He would only have seen her from the reaping footage and heard my opinions but it seems he has already made up his mind.

As I stand looking at him I realise that I really have no idea of what his vision is for this plan. How did he really think I would be able to conjure up a perfect tribute who just so happens to want to volunteer for the games? I wish I could see into his mind. He thinks we need to inspire the districts but most people in the districts are just trying to survive and the price is so high for standing up to them. I remember what Rordan said about his parents and shiver. What kind of person would willingly challenge Snow? At least Rordan knew what he had volunteered for.

Plutarch sucks in a deep breath. "Maybe we'll see how it goes. I'll decide who I want to back after the interviews. We need to be sure we have made the right decision."

"But I didn't train Loman." I've got no interest in training Loman.

"Why not? He seems capable."

"I didn't like the way-"

"You shouldn't let personal reasons get in the way of our business." It seems a bit rich coming from him.

"But- But I don't even know him."

"Then I suggest you get to know him." He says firmly.

"Mags has already agreed to be his mentor."

"Then I suggest you… swap. As you pointed out, the girl has already had your training. You have a week to bring the boy up to speed."

"But…"

"Now, we need to talk strategy. You need to teach this kid to win over the crowd. Teach him to break the rules- but in a way that will win their hearts. Make them care for him- make them love him like they love you."

"You make it sound so easy…"

"It is easy."

"You say break the rules- what rules? What rules can a tribute break without dying because of it?"

"Don't you worry about that. That's my job. You just focus on the aim. We need to speak directly to the districts. We need to show them hope for the future in the eyes of this young tribute."

"It's not possible." This is not something I can teach. Whatever ability he thinks I possess it is completely by chance. Besides, my sort of charms have never worked outside of the Capitol.

"Anything is possible. Think of Vulcan Janes. Think of those citizens who are gathered in the Curia right now ready to vote on the future. Everything is going to change now. Today's meeting is just a ripple in the water. If we strike now we shall succeed. Snow is already clutching at straws."

"Should I tell them about our plans?"

"Not until I have decided. I would rather see how they naturally react at the moment. Although it will probably be necessary for them to know once they reach the arena."

"And you promise me they will survive?"

"I gave you my word, didn't I?"

He did. I just wish I could trust it.

"I'll see you the night after the interviews," I tell him.

"I'll have my eye on you," He says jokingly.

I give a weak, short bark of laughter and make my way downstairs, heading back down to the District 4 suite on the fourth floor.

Both Aisling and Loman are still with the prep teams so I join Mags in front of the television where she is crocheting something large and rust coloured. As I sit down she looks across at me with a knowing look.

"Is there something you need to ask me?" No matter what it is Mags always seems to know.

"Can we switch tributes?"

"I thought you were keen to work with Aisling?"

"I am… it's just." I struggle to find a good reason. "I've thought of a strategy for Loman?"

"Oh?" She quirks an eyebrow and I know she is going to make me work for this.

"Yeah." I tell her. What can I do with Loman that will make him better? What can I do with him that could turn him into the tribute Plutarch wants him to be in a week? A rebel. That's what he said he wanted. "I am going to sell him as an ex-convict. Dangerous, unpredictable, you know..."

Mags looks me squarely in the eye. "Are you sure you know what you are doing?"

"Yes." I tell her, as my mind tries to work out how on earth I am going to make this work.

"Alright. It's a new one at least. Is there anything I should know about Aisling?"

"No. She just needs encouragement, really. Although…. You will make her unforgettable, won't you?"

Mags nods and turns back to her crochet. "You play some complicated games, Finnick."

"I know."

I mentally make a note to speak to the stylists. A random fishy outfit just won't cut it this year- for either of them. Loman will need something completely different- something that is entirely out of the ordinary- but what? What is there that hasn't been done a million times already?

I am running through ideas in my head when something else hits me- will Loman even listen to me after what I said to him before? "Do you think he will go for that strategy?"

Mags shrugs, "Well at least it's original. Depends on whether or not he can carry it off. He certainly seems confident enough, at least."

"Yeah. I just hope he has the skills in training to back it up." All I know is that he can outrun me but that isn't exactly a lot to go on. Please, please, let him be good at something. Surely he can't be that confident without reason?

I glance up at the clock. It is time for the live broadcast of the meeting in the Curia. I grab the remote and change the channels.

A reporter stands outside the huge columns of the Curia, commenting on how this is the first time since Snow came to power that a meeting like this has been held… blah, blah, blah… that Vulcan Janes is already inside…. Blah blah blah… We are just waiting for the arrival of the president…. Blah blah blah… it is all just the usual sort of thing to cover while we wait for the real action to take place.

Behind the reporter you can see some of the 'trusted citizens' entering the building. Some of them I recognise as Snow's workers- typical, others I am less familiar with, although the reporter wastes no time enlightening us all about each of their good deeds so as to assure us that the fate of Panem really is resting on the best shoulders.

This drags on for longer than anyone would have liked and as it begins to approach an hour it looks as though the president won't show. Momentarily they show Vulcan Janes sat in position in the main auditorium. He looks at his watch and his lips thin. I wonder how much longer he is going to wait before he tells the whole country about President Snow's exploits.

Finally the long black limousine drives up and we are told that this is the president and he is late because of 'security reasons'. Snow calmly gets out the car, not even bothering to acknowledge how long people have been waiting around for him. He nods towards the crowd, and gives one of his executives a polite wave as he mounts the steps to the Curia.

"This is a monumental day in our history," the reporter begins, trying to revive the pomp which somehow got lost in the time we spent waiting for the president. "Not in the last eighty years has a meeting like this taken place in Panem."

Behind her you can see Snow still slowly making his way up the steps.

"I think I am right in saying that the whole country waits with baited breath to find out the results."

The camera cuts again to inside the Curia where Janes manages a smile for the crowd.

"And there is Vulcan Janes; the man who has made all of this possible. He must-"

A loud noise cuts through the feed and the camera blanks out.

I turn to look at Mags and she looks at me, horror on both our faces.

The camera shows outside the Curia. Smoke is billowing out of the front door. Flames can be seen licking at the top floor windows. Already the walls are beginning to crumble. The president is on the floor, thrown onto his knees at the bottom of the steps. Someone is screaming from inside.

For a moment the news reporter is stunned, unable to find the right words to say as she too lies in a heap on the floor. People start running from the building, like ants rushing from a ruined nest. They throw themselves into the crowd, disappearing amongst the rest.

Just as everyone is about to regain their balance another explosion rattles the camera. Sirens are heard in the distance. So loud that they actually rattle our windows as they pass by outside. There is a rumble as one of the walls collapses. People scream. Then, out of the billowing smoke a figure appears.

He has no features, all that is visible is the shadow of his outline amongst the flickering glow of flames that have engulfed his entire body. He runs frantically, without direction, towards the camera and, for the briefest of moments, it is possible to see his face.

I don't want to believe what I am seeing, fleetingly I try to convince myself that it isn't real. I cannot be sure but something tells me I am looking at Vulcan Janes. Somewhere amongst that bonfire I see his arched eyebrows and long, straight nose. The camera doesn't pick up his screams but they can be seen in his expression.

No one moves. The reporters, the crowds, the peacekeepers, the attendants- all of them are frozen, completely unable to react.

"Why won't they do something? Why won't they do something," Mags urges the people on the television to move. When I briefly turn away from the set to look at her, her cheeks are wet and she is no longer looking at the screen.

Every year they televise the games. Every year we see children murdering children. We have seen hideous, painful, agonising deaths and we have been forced to look on with passivity. Now these people stand before it in person and all they can do is watch in horror as the hope of Panem goes up in flames.

I can't tell if Janes falls or if he throws himself to the ground but the drop is sudden and when he falls he doesn't move again.

Finally a fireman runs forward and covers him in a blanket, dousing out the flames while the others turn pressure hoses on the Curia building. The fire is already out of control. The building is no longer anything other than a shell. More people run from the flames, their clothes burnt onto their skin, their hair growing in patches.

This is the future of Panem. This is the hope for the Districts. This is what happens to everyone under Snow's rule. Now I know why I never quite let myself believe it.


	101. Chapter 101

It is later than usual but, despite all that has happened today, the twelve chariots are drawn up to the loop of the city circle to stand before Snow. As they look up at him something I read in the President's library comes to mind. A long time ago there were warriors called gladiators and, so this book claimed, before they went into battle they would stand before their leader and say- Ave Imperator! Morituri te salutant. 'Hail Caesar, those who are about to die. Salute you.' The way the tributes are presented to Snow each year, it almost feels like the same thing. They must honour him, even though he sends them to thier deaths.

I look at Aisling and Loman. Considering the short notice I gave them, I guess the stylists did a reasonable job with their costumes. Loman is wrapped in the huge chain of a ship's anchor which he carries in his arms. I hope the image of him in chains will stick in people's minds. Aisling is in a dress made out what looks like a ship's sails, complete with eyelets. Originally they wanted to dress them as mer-people, like that has never been done before.

Despite what happened earlier the President does not look in the slightest bit shaken as he addresses the crowds. It is just like any other Games.

"As you know, every year it is my job to welcome you all and to officially begin the Games. However, in light of what happened earlier today, I think there are a few things I ought to explain. Firstly, although we did not get a chance to vote, another session shall be arranged so our pland can proceed. Secondly I want everyone to know that the fire starter has been arrested. It seems that this unfortunate attack is the work of the Praetorian terrorist group"

Of course, every opportunity he has Snow will find another way to blame the Praetorians because he knows we are a real threat to him. I am pretty certain that the fire was Snow's own work. It is just too convenient that he could get rid of Janes and blame the Praetorians for something at the same time. It is also a little too convenient that Snow turned up late to the event, thus avoiding being caught in the fire himself.

"As a final mark of respect I think it is only right that we spend a minute remembering those brave citizens who have lost their lives today."

The crowd suddenly is silent. No cameras flash. Even the horses manage to stand still. President Snow bows his head and many people follow his example.

Vulcan Janes was a brave man, but a misguided one. I wish he could live to see Panem finally free. Of course, right now, I don't even know if I will get there.

When the minute is up Snow moves on to give his general speech about the Games, which I am sure is pretty much the same every year, then the tributes head back to the training centre. I've decided I'm not going to waste any time. Loman has to be ready to play his role right from the beginning. Even if both of us have to stay up all night we are going to get this right.

Once the chariot has pulled in I approach. "Here," Loman says, "Take this," he drops the anchor into my arms which immediately sag. I wasn't expecting the weight. I thought they would have just used a mock anchor made of something light but this is definitely strong metal. It may not be from a large ship but it is still heavy. I'm surprised that he managed to hold it all that time. As I hold it, he unloops the chains around him and hands them to me as well.

"You need to come with me," I tell him.

"Why?"

"I want to begin your training."

"I thought Mags was my mentor."

"We swapped," I tell him.

"Oh." I can't tell if he disappointed or just surprised.

I try to give the anchor and chains back to the stylist but they tell me to put it down on the floor. They are probably worried they are going to chip a nail, or something. Or maybe they simply don't have the strength to lift it. At least I know two positive things about Loman now- he is fit as he can run fast for long distances and he is strong because he can lift the anchor. I am still yet to find any evidence that suggests he is anything other than a typical career tribute, though.

I decide to take Loman down to the gymnasium. It should be empty as it is dinner time and everyone else will be eating. I hope Aisling isn't too upset about the change. Although, if she has any sense, she should realise that Mags is ten times the mentor I'll ever be.

"So what are we doing here?" Loman asks, looking around at all the different training stations that have already been set up ready for tomorrow. A strange grin appears on his face, "Are we going to duel?"

"No. It's against the rules really anyway. The tributes can't get hurt before the Games. I brought you here because we need to talk strategy."

"Alright," he shrugs. "What do you have in mind?" he is aggressive in tone, challenging me to come up with something worth his time. Luckily I'm pretty sure I have this sorted.

"I think it would be best if you tell me a bit about yourself first."

"What do you want to know?"

"Can you fight?" If he is going to be some sort of criminal he is going to need the skills to back up the story. The lie at least needs to be believable.

"Yeah. Hand-to-hand and with a spear mostly but I've practised with a number of close-range weapons. I can show you if you want."

"That won't be necessary. What about your family?" Whoever he has waiting for him back home is going to have to play along with the story. It is a terrible thing to say but ideally he would be an orphan.

"I just live with my older sister. I don't get on with my step-dad."

"Alright."

"Why are you suddenly interested, anyway. I thought you didn't want me on your training programme."

"That was before... now you are here."

"So what's your great plan."

"It involves creating a whole new background for you. We need to make you stand out. I don't think we can do that by you just being yourself."

"OK..." he seems a bit unsure.

"There was a reason I asked for you to be in chains tonight. My idea is to tell everyone you are a criminal."

He considers it a moment then Loman slowly breaks out in a grin. "I get it." He says. "Make me seem dangerous."

"Precisely. There are no rules about lying. Tonight we need to come up with your backstory and then it is up to you to stick with it throughout the games. You understand?"

He nods.

"You are a murderer." I tell him. "The sponsors will support you if they think you have killed before. You were being held in the Justice building under arrest when the Games began. You were brought out for the reaping, just like everyone else. You were given the choice- to either volunteer for the Games or to be executed for your crimes. You chose the Games."

Loman narrows his eyes, thinking it all through. "Who did I murder?"

I have already thought carefully about this. He needs to be sympathetic for the district audiences to like him. He needs a crime they can relate to- something against the authorities. "You were caught trying to steal food for your family. You killed a man in self-defence."

Loman shakes his head. "No, I have a better idea." He tightens his jaw and I see anger flaring in his eyes.

"What?"

"I killed that peacekeeper that makes my sister fuck him every month to pay our bills.

For a moment I can't speak. There isn't a lot I can say about that so I just nod. I'm sure lots of people in the districts will understand. I think I know why he volunteered for the Games- if he wins him and his sister will have enough money to no longer be at the mercy of the peacekeepers.

A sick sort of smile spreads across his face. I suppose he gets some joy out of getting revenge on his sister's behalf, even if it is all just imaginary.

"So how are we going to do this?"

"You need to be crude, anti-social, fierce- dangerous. I want you to keep away from the other tributes, except to insult them. Rile them as much as you can. Don't really show off your skills in training, if possible, sit out of it altogether. It will worry them more if they don't know exactly what you are capable of. I am going to spread the word around about your past- make sure everyone in the Capitol knows who you are. That will get sponsors interested. We need to create a buzz. It's going to need a lot of acting. Do you think you can do it?"

"No problem," he says. And I actually believe him. Maybe I was wrong to overlook him before.

"Come on, then." I tell him, "We better join the others for dinner."

When we reach the table Mags and Aisling are eating their dessert. Loman immediately helps himself to some ice cream and profiteroles, not worrying that we have missed the other two courses.

Aisling looks up at me. "Where have you two been?"

"We needed to discuss tactics," I tell her. There is no point in trying to hide the changes from her.

"But I thought-" her face begins to turn bright red. "I thought we would be working together. I was on the training programme."

"We thought it would be a good idea to mix things up a bit," Mags explains.

"And you are in safe hands," I tell her. "Mags has trained more victors than anyone."

"But that's not the point- What about- You just ditched me, just like that? Not just that but you are working against me?" She is now scarlet.

"I'm not working against you."

"You're his mentor. There can only be one winner. It doesn't matter that we are from the same district."

"Aisling…" I begin but I don't really know what to say. If I had my way I would still be mentoring her. I have got to know her quite well over the last months and I genuinely think we could have made a great team but it's not like I can go against Plutarch's instructions.

"And no one has even discussed my tactics."

"What do you think we were discussing over dinner? That conversation wasn't for my health," Mags says.

"It's not fair!"

"Well it wasn't my idea," Loman grunts. "Take him, if you care that much."

"No," I say, "That isn't possible. She is just going to have to learn to live with it."

"Or die with it," Aisling spits, throwing her napkin down on the table as she gets to her feet and storms out.

Loman shrugs and helps himself to more ice cream. "Girls."

I feel bad about it but there really isn't anything I can do. I have no choice. As I see Aisling walk away I suddenly realise something; now we have swapped tributes there is no going back. Even if Plutarch wanted to focus his attention on her I would no longer be involved in the plan which surely defeats the point. This can only mean one thing- Plutarch has already made up his mind. Loman is our victor.

Her last words hang in the air around me. Suddenly I'm not hungry.


	102. Chapter 102

"Has your guy got a sulk on?" Johanna asks as we sit watching the training session from the gallery.

Loman, as I suggested, sits alone in one corner of the gymnasium on top of some of the crash mats. He holds a knife but just twiddlles it in his hands. He is surprisingly skilled. Already I have seen several of the other tributes glance his way- mostly looking worried, although the male tribute from District 2 seems riled.

"Dunno, he is kinda moody. I try not to spend too much time with him."

"What's his deal?"

"Not sure. He was incarcerated in the Justice Building before the reaping, though."

"What for?"

"Murder." I shrug.

"Really?" Johanna asks, narrowing her eyes. I can tell she doesn't believe me. She brings her face in closer so our noses are practically touching. "Really?"

"Yes, really," I try to keep myself from grinning under her interrogation but it is near impossible.

"Of course," she says sarcastically. "You see my tribute." She points towards a knobbly-kneed twelve year old, "Well she's President Snow's granddaughter."

"You're not going to tell on me, are you?"

"You think I give a damn what you fool those idiots into thinking?"

"What about your…" I nod towards the girl.

Johanna snorts, "Well she is going to die anyway. I'm under no delusion there."

When I glance back down the boy from District 2 has approached Loman. Both boys are on their feet. The knife in Loman's hand is chillingly still. Several assistants hone in on them but they are not quick enough to prevent Loman holding his knife to the boy's throat. If anything this role comes a little too easily to him.

"I like him," Johanna says, "He reminds me of me." The assistants separate the two boys and force them to go to opposite sides of the gymnasium. "Shame," Johanna adds. "I've always wanted to know what happens when a tribute dies before they get to the arena."

* * *

><p>"Isn't it against the rules to allow a murderer in the arena?" She says as she slips from the bed and crosses the room to where a glass of wine sits chilling in an ice bucket. The outline of her pert naked bottom is obvious in the dim lamp glow.<p>

I look down at the silk sheets, running my hands across the smooth surface. "Apparently not."

She glides back over to the bed and pops the top of the bottle, leaning down towards me. "How did he do it? How'd he kill that guy?"

"You know I can't give too much away."

She leans forward onto the bed and kisses me, "You are such a tease."

"He is going to put on quite the show."

"No doubt." She is still kissing me, her front teeth gently tugging on my lower lip. She giggles and moves round on the bed, drinking the wine straight from the bottle. She offers it up to me and I do the same.

"So I can count on your support this year?"

"Finnick, you know I can't resist. I take one look at those eyes and I just melt. I need to keep you in the Capitol as long as possible, even if that means I have to single-handedly turn that boy into a victor."

It's that easy; a bit of intrigue, a bit of sex and they are sold. At this rate Loman will have so many sponsors that the other tributes won't even get a look-in. The games are practically over before they begin.

I try hard not to worry about Aisling but of course I still do.

* * *

><p>"So how'd it go?" I ask Loman when he comes out of his individual session with the Gamemakers.<p>

He just shrugs, "Alright, I guess."

"What did you do?"

"Nothing." He brushes by me, heading towards his room.

"What do you mean nothing?"

"Just as I said- nothing." He looks at me as though I'm stupid. "I thought, I don't care what they think of me. I don't need to impress them. So I just stood completely still and stared at them until they told me I could leave."

I almost shout at him- what does he think he is doing? Then I start to wonder if that has ever been done before. Has anyone had the guts to do nothing? They know his reputation. I have been spreading it far and wide. It has been in the newspapers- on television. I have hinted at it in interviews. They have seen how he has been acting in the training sessions. As long as he has managed to convince them the story is true then maybe things aren't that bad after all.

"It's alright," he tells me, "I've got it under control."

I leave him to just go back to his room. I hear someone behind me. When I turn I see Aisling, she too is heading for her room.

"How did it go?" I ask her. We still haven't resolved our differences since the first night. I have not been in the Training Centre during the evenings and she has been occupied during the day. I haven't even seen her, except from a distance.

"I'm surprised you even bother to ask. It's not like you care."

"Of course I care."

"Just not enough to train me yourself." She pushes by me.

"What did you show them?" I call after her.

"Just what you showed me." She huffs back at me. "Like I could have done anything else."

By the evening when the scores are announced the atmosphere around the television area seems particularly spikey. I am glad that Mags is there to disperse some of it.

When it is District four's turn they put the picture of Loman and a ten flashes up next to it. He gives me a cocky nod of his head as if to say- 'I told you so.' I guess his reputation is enough.

Alongside the picture of Aisling a Seven appears. I can tell she is disappointed. But two months ago that girl would have been lucky to have got a three.

"I'm going to bed," she says. I don't try to stop her. It is a terrible thing to say but Johanna's words are in my head. Already I know I have begun to detach myself from her. If I get any closer it is just going to make losing her worse.

Loman moves along the sofa getting closer to me. "I've been thinking," he begins.

"Yes?"

"I think I'm better off without the career pack."

"I think you're right."

"So you don't mind if I 'go it alone?'"

"No. You've got it 'under control,' after all," and the scary thing is that he actually has.

* * *

><p>Caesar actually seems quite excited to talk to him. The questions are not just the same old standard fare that he asks all the other tributes.<p>

I sit on the edge of my seat. Loman's acting skills are really going to be tested to the limits now. This has to be believable. This is his chance to get the districts truly on his side. In some ways this is going to be even more important than the Games.

"Now there has been a lot of talk about your past in the last week. Am I right in saying that you had been arrested just before the reaping?"

Loman merely nods in reply.

"Could you tell us some more about what happened?"

"I didn't have much choice. You don't when someone you love is in danger." I can tell he is thinking of his sister. He keeps swallowing hard- it's visible even from this distance. It is clear he is struggling to keep it together.

"What had happened?"

I haven't told anyone the details of why he was arrested. It is not the sort of thing that I could include in a press release or in an interview of my own. It is dangerous ground. I wonder if Loman will risk saying it now. No one ever speaks out against the Peacekeepers. It just isn't done. It is almost as dangerous as speaking out against Snow.

"I'm not sure if I should say," Loman says, his eyes search the crowd, looking for me.

"Ah, we are all friends here, you can tell us," Caesar prompts him. He is going to have to say something and really what are they going to do- for all they know he is going to die in the arena. The worst that is going to happen is they will cut the video feed and even then everyone in this room will hear- the assembled press will hear.

When his eyes finally find mine, I nod.

"She- my sister- was being attacked. He was hurting her-"

"Who was?"

"The… the peacekeeper." As soon as he says it the room begins to buzz but Loman presses on. "So I didn't have any choice. I couldn't watch it any more. So I… I killed him." He says it matter-of-factly, looking Ceasar straight in the eye. I know I wouldn't have had the nerve to do that.

"What did you do, Loman?"

"I punched him and beat him until there was nothing left. It's was the anger. I just… I just couldn't watch that anymore."

Silence.

Even I could believe he did it. Even the way he clutches at his hands, as though try to control them- trying to keep those weapons in check. As someone who knows something about murder I find it completely believable. It is like seeing part of myself sat on the stage.

Caesar manages to speak again but only in the softest whisper. "Is there something you would like to say to your sister?"

Loman nods. "Yes, just that I'm sorry that I let it happen and that I am going to come back home. I guarantee it."

I understand. He is sorry that he didn't really do anything to change their circumstances. He must feel pretty guilty about just standing by while his sister did what she had to. I guess that's why he was so keen to use this experience. Somehow this fictional scenario helps him atone for the reality. Maybe I should make up some alternate version of my life, too. One thing being in the Capitol has taught me, if nothing else, is that it is easy to change history.

"Thank you, Loman, that's all we have time for tonight," Caesar says, still winded by Loman's revelation.

* * *

><p>"I know you have already chosen Loman," I tell Plutarch, "So you can cut the crap."<p>

"Actually I was just going to offer you a drink." He holds up a glass and I take it, not caring to ask what it is. "And I just think he has more… potential. The girl is so quiet. And it would be a shame to let all your hard work from the last week go to waste. That interview- I couldn't have planned it better myself. I bet Snow is livid."

"And you promise me he is going to survive?"

"I promise he will be the victor, yes. We need him, Finnick."

"Yeah. Well he took a big risk tonight speaking out about the peacekeepers. I just hope he doesn't come to regret it." I take a sip of my drink. "Should I tell him about the plan?"

"He seems to be doing alright on his own. Probably best not to… interrupt that. We can recruit him when the Games are over."

* * *

><p>"Ladies and Gentlemen, let the Seventy-third Hunger Games begin!"<p>

Despite Plutarch's assurances, my heart his risen to my throat. I feel sick. The same dread consumes me as it does every year. I have no idea how this plan is going to go. I have no idea if is going to work. I don't want to see Aisling die. I don't want to live this again.

All around me the mentors behave just as they do every year- feigning nonchalence, finidng any way they can to keep memories under control. Knowing that Plutarch's plan rests on my shoulders just makes it worse.


	103. Chapter 103

"So what's it going to be this year?" Gloss says as he lazily leans back on his chair.

All eyes are on the monitors.

"Bet you five hundred there are going to be trees, "I hear Chaff say to Haymitch.

Haymitch snorts. "You think I'm some sort of idiot?"

The transmission switches on. There are trees. Huge, trees with few branches. They cover the whole arena. The canopy of their leaves mask the whole of the sky so the twenty-four tributes are stood in shadow. They are positioned around the cornucopia as usual- each of their plates is positioned on a small island and between the islands there is swamp. Further out the water seems to be flowing around the trees but nearer the cornucopia it is mostly a dark, thick, mud where the water level has dropped. I begin to wonder how the tributes are expected to create a spectacle while falling in the mud when I notice the structures that have been built overhead. Using the trunks of the trees like stilts a whole network of netting, wooden dwellings, tunnels and walkways have been built to allow the tributes to travel above the water. A number of rope ladders hang down to allow them passage between the two levels. This means the tributes will have a choice- either to be relatively exposed in the upper levels or to be stuck in the lower levels. For the tribute that can't swim there isn't much choice but Aisling and Loman don't have that problem. I wonder how much influence Plutarch had over the arena design. Is it because of the water that he was so keen to have a District 4 alliance with the Praetorians?

"I bet there are alligators," I hear Johanna groan, metaphorically throwing in her towel as she launches a napkin towards the bin.

Loman looks calm and collected. I tell he is going to go to head towards the cornucopia as soon as he hears the signal. There is simply no other option and his gaze is focused inwards rather than out.

The gong rings. The Games have begun.

Loman slips as soon as he steps onto the mud but recovers quickly. The other tributes face the same problem and no matter what direction they are trying to go in, all twenty four slide about like a giraffe on ice. This bloodbath isn't going to be easy for anyone.

When Loman reaches the mouth of the cornucopia he grabs a spear and a decent knife and a few other supplies then begins purging the arena of the other tributes. He rams his spear into the gut of one, stabs another and forces a third to the ground while the girl from District 1 slits the back of his neck with a sword. Heading towards the small islands where some tributes are still fighting with the mud he continues his massacre. Any worry about him being able to convincingly play his role disappear. He doesn't give killing them even a second of thought.

When the bloodbath is over only ten tributes remain- 6 careers and 4 others. Our Control room empties pretty quickly. The mud took its toll. The rope ladders made any runaways easy targets for the boy from District 2 who is talented with a crossbow. The water surrounding the boggy area meant those that couldn't swim were stranded- forced to face the battle. Easy pickings. The Games will probably be over before it is even fully established.

Loman wipes the blood from his face then elegantly falls face-first into the mud. The boy from District 1 offers his hand; Loman takes it and gets to his feet. The mud covers his face and his clothes but he doesn't try to wipe it away, he just hardens his expression.

"So, what do we do now?" The girl from District 1 asks.

"I have something I need to sort out," Loman says. He takes a step towards the rope ladder and, in one swift movement; he cuts the throat of the boy from 2. Already we are down to nine. The others didn't even see it coming. Several of them clasp at their weapons.

"What's that about?" Aisling asks him.

"I'm not interested in joining your stupid alliance," Loman says, his fingers already on the rope ladder. He doesn't wait for the statement to sink before he begins climbing as fast as he can up to the upper levels. The remaining careers try to get at him but only the boy from 2 could use a long-range weapon. They start to pursue him but fall again in the mud before they can even reach the ladder. By the time they have got up, Loman has vanished under the trees.

* * *

><p>On the second day in the arena I have more sponsorship money than I know what to do with. As there isn't much food around in the arena I decide to send Loman something to eat. I'm not sure what he likes so I just send a chicken casserole as I figured there isn't much not to like.<p>

He doesn't look surprised when the parachute finds him. He catches it deftly and looks at what is inside. He pauses when he sees the casserole. His smile, which is usually plastered across his face at all times, fades. He goes to the edge of the nearest walkway, stretches out his arms and lets the casserole drop, straight down off the side. On the monitor I see it getting smaller and smaller until it plunges into the water.

Then he looks directly into the camera. I can't quite read his expression. It is almost confusion, but not quite. It is almost determination, but not quite. It is almost sadness, anger, fear… but not quite.

I guess he doesn't like chicken casserole.

Intrigued, I decide to try again. This time I send him spaghetti Bolognese. Again he throws this over the side, just like the casserole. Maybe he's not hungry. Except he must bem he hasn't eaten anything other than a few berries in a whole day. He has been walking around- he needs the energy. I am just about to try a stew when he is throws his spear and his knife and the rest of the supplies he got from the cornucopia over the side as well. All he has left are the clothes they gave him.

What am I meant to do now? Never in all my time as a mentor, never in all the years watching the Games with my dad, have I seen anything like this. Most tributes try to hoard supplies, most are pleased when their sponsors show them some support. I guess Loman isn't like most most tributes. "Er… Mags?"

She turns to look at my screen as well. It takes her a moment to see what's happening- I still can't explain it myself. I wonder for a moment if Loman will start removing his clothes as well but fortunately he doesn't. He stands with his back to the tree, gasping for breath as though he has just been running for his life. What if he has lost his mind? I try to get a look at his eyes- certain that I would see something there but there is nothing.

"I suppose he's just giving up," she says.

"What? Everything?"

It doesn't make sense. It seems so sudden, so completely out of the blue. Why would a chicken casserole change his mind about the whole thing? Just yesterday he was leading the bloodbath- he seemed to have no issue with killing the others. He seemed to be thriving in the arena- perhaps even enjoying it- so why has everything suddenly changed?

Slowly he sits down on the floor of the walkway and pulls his knees up to the chest. He does look like a defeated man. Instinctively I glance up at the map. Thankfully no other tributes are nearby. I have to do something. He can't just give up. There is more than just his life to be lost. I knew I should have told him the plan before he entered the arena. Maybe then he might have kept his focus.

My mind is racing. What can I do to inspire him to keep going? What can I do without talking to him? There has to be a way to get everything back on track. "I need to find a way to get through to him. I can't just let him kill himself. But what can I do?" ask Mags.

"I guess you'll have to remind him of what he has to live for."

Yes. That makes sense. He is doing this for his sister. That's what I need to make him think about- where she would be if he died now. The problem is I have never met his sister nor do I know anything about her other than that she was attacked by a peacekeeper. What should I do, send him a Peacekeeper's helmet...? That has got to be one of the strangest gifts to have ever been sent into the arena but if it will make him remember that it is what I will have to send.

Luckily it doesn't take long for the helmet to be approved and the third parachute finds Loman less than an hour after the other two.

He gets to his feet again and curiously opens the package. When he sees what is inside he throws the helmet to the ground in a fit of rage and begins to stomp on it, smashing it with the heavy boots they supplied him with. It is not too difficult to imagine him kicking in the head of the peacekeeper who might wear this helmet. I know it is just a story we made up together but sometimes it feels very true. They will not be showing this footage, I know that. It is no one's death so no one will wonder where the footage is and it is far too inflammatory to be broadcast.

When the helmet is nothing but debris he kicks it over the side of the walkway as well. I hope no one is below; otherwise he just completely gave his position away. Then he sits back down in the exact same position he was in before. I guess anger isn't enough.

"It didn't work," I tell Mags.

She is listening intently to her headphones. It looks like the Careers are arguing. "What about something from home?" she suggests, a little distractedly "If anger won't do it maybe love will."

As I try to think of an object that Loman might associate with love I keep one eye on the screen. This is easier said than done. I feel like I don't even know him at all. I try to think of something he has said- some hint that might allow me to get through to him but I have nothing.

I am still trying to figure it out when Loman gets to his feet.

I pause, waiting to see what he is going to do.

For a second he looks up towards the camera and he sighs. Then he turns away, although he begins to address me directly. "Finnick, you can stop sending me things," he says. "I'm not going to use them. They never give anything without expecting something in return. I'm not giving them my life in exchange for a chicken casserole. I'm going to do this my own way. That way, when I get out they won't own me."

So that's what this is. I imagine Plutarch cheering. This is exactly the sort of thing he wanted. Loman is standing up to the Capitol. I wish I had done the same. There isn't a day that doesn't go by when I don't wish I didn't belong to them. What he is yet to realise is, even if he accepts nothing from the Capitol viewers he will still be owned. Plutarch will own him. He is going to save his life. There is no bigger debt than that. Hopefully it is a debt that he will be happy to repay.

I know they would not have shown that anywhere. It would have been furiously edited out but hopefully the people in the districts will still understand the sentiment, even if it took me a while to understand. He will have nothing but the tools his home taught him and yet he is going to triumph. It's certainly a promising message.

Loman crosses to one of the tree trunks. It is unusual because unlike the others it actually has a small branch that is hanging off it. He grabs the limb and pulls it until it breaks away from the tree then he sets about removing all the excess leaves and smaller twigs until he has a long, lean pole. Now I understand his plan, it seems obvious what he is doing.

He takes the rope ladder down to ground level, carrying his pole with him. Then he searches the ground until he finds a sharp rock. Sitting down in a spot where he is mostly be hidden from the rest of the arena he slowly gets to work creating his weapon. I imagine this is the same way he created his practice weapon back home. He seems to know what he is doing, anyway.

Crisis averted, I finally allow myself to relax again. I take a big gulp of water and slouch back in my chair.

"How is Aisling doing?"

"She is holding her own amongst the others," Mags tells me, "You did a good job training her. She's a smart girl."

"I know."

"I just hope they don't end up as the final two."

"Me too," I tell her. That would just be the final straw. There is already no chance that I will be able to look her family in the eye when we get home. They will hate me, just like Mr O'Brien hated me. Once again I will become the enemy of District 4. Hopefully I can at least make sure that Loman will come back a hero.


	104. Chapter 104

By the end of the first week only six tributes remain. Both from District one, the girl from 2, the girl from 9, Aisling and Loman.

The girl from District 11 drowned in the water when the careers threw her off one of the high walkways. The boy from District 9 was caught by the careers and they cut off his limbs one by one. Aisling- that sweet girl I once met on the beach- cut off both his hands. You have no choice except to change in the arena. The girl from District 3 was also hunted down by the pack. The girl from District 10 was eaten by some sort of alligator that, just as Johanna predicted, swim in the murky swamp waters.

While Loman wanders the arena far away from the others, chewing on bark and hunting small rodents with his home-made spear I watch Mags' monitor. The four careers are descending to the lower level to try and track down the girl from District nine. The girl from District two is halfway down the rope-ladder when she spots her target. She points her out to the rest of them and they all begin to scramble downwards.

The girl from nine crouches in the underbrush, the water is up to her waist but everything above is covered in the same thick black mud that circled the cornucopia. I'm surprised the girl from District 2 spotted her, she must have very good eyesight or maybe the girl just happened to move at the wrong time. I don't know. I can see her panicking- trying to work out whether or not she should try and get away or if she should accept her fate. She begins to move- her actions are slow, though, and she doesn't try to swim away but rather walk through the thick soupy water.

Aisling is the second career down the rope ladder and as soon as she hits the water she is after her. Even if the girl from 9 could swim she would have no chance against Aisling. She soars like a bullet through the water, quickly out-stripping the girl from 2, despite the head start. She grabs the girl by her hair and pushes her head beneath the surface while the rest of the careers struggle to catch up. In the few minutes it takes for them to join her, the girl from District 9 is already dead. Only once the cannon boom echoes around the arena does Aisling finally let go of her.

The four careers stand awkwardly in the water.

"There's only us and Loman left now," Aisling says.

"Where do you reckon he is?"

"I dunno. He could be anywhere. We've seen no sign of him since he went off."

There is another stilted pause. None of the four can quite look each other in the eye. "I suppose we should all go our separate ways."

They all agree. I don't blame them. The alliance has already continued longer than it should. Aisling swims away and it doesn't take her long to completely separate herself from the others, then she climbs back up to the higher levels.

I wonder if, now we are down to the final five, the gamemakers will begin the finale or if they will try and drag it out for a little longer as the Games are passing quickly. As always I just hope the whole thing finishes soon because it doesn't matter how long it takes for twenty-three people to die, they are still dead at the end of it.

"What do you think they are going to do?" I ask Mags as we both watch the two lights on the map. Loman and AIsling are getting closer and closer together. There is no way to avoid it- they are going to meet.

"It's too late to make an alliance," Mags says.

"They won't fight, though… will they?"

Mags just shrugs. It is impossible to predict. Loman has never had any problem with killing and Aisling seems to have got the instinct since entering the arena. Is a district bond enough to stop them? I don't know. It should at least make them think twice. There is something about being faced with the only other person who shares your home. You might not get on with each other, you might hardly speak but the link is still there.

Our eyes are glued to the screens, waiting to finding out. We are almost as bad as the people in the Capitol but this moment is just too intriguing, besides, it is our job to watch.

They meet at either end of one of the long tubular tunnels. Loman spots Aisling first. He doesn't enter the tunnel but crouches down so he can look into it. When AIsling reaches the other end she also stops.

"Hello," Loman says flatly, his voice echoing down the tube.

"Hello," Aisling replies.

Neither of them move. They cannot go forwards without meeting each other head on but there is no other way to move into the next part of the arena.

"I suppose we are meant to kill each other now," Loman says casually.

"What's that you've got?" Aisling asks, pointing towards Loman's spear.

"It's a spear."

"Why does it look so…" But she doesn't quite know how to finish the end of that sentence. I think the word she is looking for is 'homespun' or possibly 'rubbish'.

"I made it."

"I get it," She says.

"Get what?"

"You think you don't need help from anyone."

"it's not that. I just don't want anything from them."

Aisling snorts, "Just the prize money, huh? Or we you planning on giving that away in some sort of noble gesture."

"Maybe."

"Are you going to let me pass."

"No." he says simply. "Why? Are you going to let me?"

"No."

I glance up at the map- more out of habit that anything else. There is another red light heading straight towards the two of them but I can't tell which it is closest to. I nudge Mags and point it out to her. One of our tributes is going to have a problem any minute now.

"There is no way we can warn them," Mags says.

Neither Loman or Aisling seem aware of the approaching danger. Whoever it is must be very quiet. I lose track of their conversation. Suddenly Loman kicks the metal rim of the tunnel. A loud clang echoes around them- sure to drown out the sound of any approaching enemies.

"Well, that's mature," Aisling snorts. "I think it would be best if we both just turn back the way we came."

The cannon booms. The girl from District 2 just finished the boy from District 1. That means that the red light that is practically on top of theirs must be the girl from District 1.

"Sure," Loman says, and he kicks the edge of the tunnel again. This is when the girl from District 1 pounces. She leaps onto Aisling's back, her hands wrapped around her throat. Aisling, completely taken by surprise, doesn't even stand a chance.

While the two girls battle it out, Loman pulls himself on top of the tunnel and walks along the top to the other end where he has a clear view of what is happening. He swings his legs over the end and sits.

"Well, this is entertaining," he says sarcastically.

"Shut up!" The girl from District 1 says through gritted teeth. Her knuckles are white as she continues to put pressure on Aisling's throat. Yet Aisling is still thrashing around, showing an unprecedented amount of strength.

"You're not really doing it right. You could get that done quicker if-"

"Not helping!" she says as she throws Aisling to the ground and finally uses her dagger to finish the job.

The cannon announces her death. And that is it. I knew Plutarch wasn't going to keep her alive and even if he was trying to I don't know what he could have done to help, but it doesn't stop me feeling surprised. Every year their deaths take me by surprise. Somehow it is still impossible to emotionally see it coming, even if your brain has tried to reconcile the idea long before.

Another cannon bellows. The girl from District 2 falls at the hands of the alligators that have now developed a sudden frenzy to kill. Only two left now.

"So do you want to fight now or later?" Loman asks.

"Let's get this over with."

"Are you going to come up here or should I come down to you?"

"Cut the chat," the girl said.

"Alright," Loman says, grinning as she winces at the sound of his voice. He pulls back from the edge of the tunnel and stands on top of it again.

The girl from District 1 lets out a low growl and tries to grab hold of the top of the tunnel so she can pull herself up but she is simply too short. She keeps trying but she can't even get within five inches of the lip of the concrete tube. Even when she takes a run-up and launches herself off the base of the tunnel it is still too high.

"Don't worry," Loman says, "I can come down."

He launches himself off the top of the tunnel and lands several metres away from the girl. I expect for him to stand his ground and face her but instead he starts running. She is close behind him but Loman weaves through the walkways making sharp turns and sudden changes in random directions which make it more difficult for her to follow.

When he reaches a rope ladder he half clambers, half throws himself down it. I understand what he is doing- he is going to be a lot stronger than her in the water but he doesn't know about the deadly alligators. I hope Plutarch has things under control. Have they got a way of controlling the mutts or do they just do what they have been programmed to do?

Loman swims out into the middle of a patch of water. He holds his spear ready. He could throw it at the girl now as she scurries down the ladder, but he doesn't. He waits for her to hit the water first, then prepares to strike.

"Come on, then," the girl says. She looks nervous, perhaps she isn't a strong swimmer or perhaps, unlike Loman, she has seen the alligators.

"You might as well just end it, what are you waiting for?" She calls to him.

"I only have one shot to throw this; I have to be sure I don't miss."

"That's what I am counting on."

"You could move in a bit closer."

"Unlikely."

"Alright." He spends a moment longer getting his aim as he wants it, then, finally he releases his homemade weapon. The girl pushes away from the spot she once stood in, grinning. Loman is now without a weapon. "Like I didn't see that coming," he says.

Finally she moves towards him, the knife in hand. Just like the girl from District 9 her movements are slow as she also choses to walk rather than swim. It is agonising to watch. Loman even swims a little towards her in order to close up the gap between them a little faster.

"So how are we going to do this?" he asks.

The girl lunges towards him. Loman grabs the handle of the knife, yanks it away and tosses it as far from them as he can throw it.

The girl's eyes widen.

"I think we are done here," Loman says.

The girl tries to get away but Loman is too fast for her. She should have known better than to follow him into the water. He uses all his weight and pushes her down beneath the surface. A string of bubbles that drift to the surface is the only indication that she is still alive. Loman doesn't flinch as he holds her there, he might just be going for an afternoon swim.

"What's that?" Mags asks, pointing towards the corner of the screen. A huge alligator skims the water, only its glowing red eyes visible above the surface.

"It won't get to him before she-"

But the bubbles keep rippling to the surface and the alligator continues its approach- it moves even faster than Loman, seamlessly. It hardly makes any ripples in the water at all. What can I do? There has to be something I can do. Surely Plutarch should be doing something right about now? Surely that girl should be dead- it feels as though she has been under the water forever.

There is a sudden splash as the alligator strikes. Its teeth lock around Loman's torso, pulling him from the girl.

The cannon fires. For a moment I think that maybe the alligator has finished him off but then I remember the girl. I guess they fired the cannon as it is impossible to see her death.

The alligator shakes its head, Loman's limp body hangs from its jaws, blood trickling down from its mouth.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victor of the Seventy-third Hunger Games, Loman Scully." Claudius Templemith's voice booms out just at the last moment.

The alligator finally drops Loman and disappears into the water, as if it was never there at all. Loman's body sinks down into the water as the hovercraft materialises overhead.

What was Plutach thinking? This shouldn't have happened. He was meant to be safe. I have seen absolutely no evidence of Plutarch watching over him at all.

The roar of the crowds this year is somewhat muted as we watch a man reaching down in the area of the water Loman was last seen, trying to pull up his body. It isn't until he emerges that they really celebrate. I can't tell how badly he is hurt but his clothes are soaked in blood and he is no longer conscious. So much for him being safe.


	105. Chapter 105

As we wait for Loman to wake up me and Mags listen to the radio. My every thought is punctuated with one word- sleep. I am desperate for it to find me. The drugs they gave us to keep us awake during the Games still hasn't worn off so there is no chance of us getting some sleep, although it doesn't stop the weariness from spreading through my body. After a week on these drugs the need to sleep begins to overwhelm everything else but whatever it is that allows us to pass from consciousness to unconsciousness doesn't work. Sleep feels like an addition- one that cannot be satiated until the drugs are out of the system.

"The session, which was interrupted by the attack on the Curia, was held in secret today. Our mode of governmental rule was discussed and voted on. President Snow now addresses us all from his mansion with the result of the vote."

The radio cuts from the studio to a recording and gives a slight jolt as it adjusts to the President's voice.

"Vulcan Janes was right to challenge our current mode of government and, although he is no longer with us I am sure he would be pleased with the results of today's session. We are now a democracy. As of today eligible citizens will be able to vote on how things are run. This is an exciting moment in our history and proves just how far we have come since the Dark Days. Long Live Panem!" and the transmission cuts out, returning to the original broadcaster who begins to discuss the president's speech with a co-host.

I turn to look at Mags, not quite sure what I have heard. "But what does that mean?"

"It means that the same one hundred of Snow's closest followers are allowed to vote and will be bribed and coerced into making the decisions Snow wants them to make."

"So nothing's changed?"

"Only superficially. This isn't what Janes meant. The districts still won't have a say."

We knew the results even before they were announced. We knew there was no way Snow was ever going to relinquish the Capitol's hold over the Districts but sometimes it's nice to fool yourself, even if it is only for a while. Janes was a threat, now Janes is dead. No one in the Capitol cares as long as everything runs just as it always does.

A doctor enters the waiting room and instinctively I stand. "How is he?"

"He is stabilised but he is still under the anaesthetic. The damage the alligator did to his torso is quite severe. We were concerned that his spinal cord might be damaged but he seems to be recovering well."

"When will we be able to see him?"

"We will let you know as soon as he wakes up." At that she turns and disappears again down the corridor.

It is only once she is going that I realise she never told us if the suspected spinal cord damage was found or just a fear. The Capitol has the best medicine in Panem but I'm sure even they can't recover a damaged spinal cord. I wonder if I should head down the corridor and see if I can find her again but my phone starts ringing.

"Hello?"

It's Blasius. He has work for me. I am to go to some mansion to spend the night with some rich Capitol brat. There is no choice, I have to go. This just prooves that there are no moments when they won't try and drag me away . I give my apologies to Mags and make a swift exit.

* * *

><p>I don't know why I am here. I sit completely naked in a chair, a small slither of moonlight giving me enough light to read by while they continue their games. I should be pleased I am no longer needed. Once I had set the scene, allowed them to watch as I kissed and caressed and fondled, they left me alone while they focused on each other. He is a newsreader and she works in fashion- I think I have modelled her clothes before. They are both young. They are both successful. They are both well known. And they are brother and sister but that, apparently doesn't stop them.<p>

Occasionally I look up from my book but they are completely, carnally engrossed in each other. I have reached chapter six while sitting here. I considered leaving but I don't think it's allowed. I guess this is one secret that I don't even have to be told. I'm sure, even in the Capitol, incest would ruin a reputation. I don't understand it. They could have anyone so why do this?

This isn't the first time I have watched people have sex but it still feels like an intrusion, even though they invited me especially for this purpose. Never mind that this is a crime. I may be one of the most famous living victors but nights like this remind me how fame doesn't make me a person to them. They aren't afraid of the secret getting out- they can't be if the pleasure they get from me being here outweighs their fear.

As they begin to get more vocal I turn back to my book but the moon has disappeared behind a cloud and it is impossible to read the words.

I guess I should use the time to think about what happens next. Plutarch must have some sort of plan now he has Loman- he wouldn't have set all this up otherwise. I just hope it keeps him and his family safe. Anyone who has publically stood up to Snow recently has been destroyed- it doesn't matter who they are. If he can kill Vulcan Janes he could kill anyone.

I just hope Loman is willing to play along. He will have more trouble than he can handle if he refuses to help the rebellion. I know Plutarch isn't Hydra but if she was willing to kill my family to get me on her side I wouldn't be surprised if Plutarch was willing to do the same. We are all just pieces in their Games- acquisitions and assets to be won over.

* * *

><p>The next morning I return to the hospital. The stench of sweat and sex still linger on my skin. I haven't had a chance to shower. I want to be there when Loman wakes up. It is confusing enough as it is without being surrounded by strangers.<p>

When I reach the waiting room no one is around. He probably is already awake. I missed it. I assume Mags has gone through to see Loman so I head off down the corridor the doctor had appeared from yesterday. I recognise it from when Annie was being treated after her Games. I am so pleased she is safe at home right now instead of being still stuck here.

A woman in a grey suit exits one of the rooms up ahead. She look surprised to see me. "Which room is Loman in?" I ask.

She gives me a strange look.

"I'm his mentor," I add because she still seem unsure.

"It's the last one on the left but-"

"Thanks," I say, pushing by her before she can tell me he isn't ready for visitors or that it's not visiting hours or something equally redundant.

I linger a while by the doorway. I can see Loman lying down in bed. There are all sorts of machines around him but none of them are in use. That must be a good sign. I wonder if his back is alright. Hopefully he will be out of the hospital soon. The sooner we can all get home the better. No sign of Mags. Maybe she has gone back to her room for some rest.

Loman isn't moving; maybe he is still asleep after all. Quietly I move forward, crossing towards his bed. He is lying flat on his back his head isn't even raised by a pillow and the sheets have been pulled right up to his chin. He is so pale and so still.

"Loman?" I say softly but he doesn't respond. He must be exhausted.

I stand watching him a moment. He doesn't look like someone who is asleep. He looks more like someone who is… I lightly touch his cheek. It is so cold. He's not asleep.

I hear someone approach behind me and I quickly turn. "What happened?"

It's the doctor I saw before. She keeps her distance. "I'm sorry," she says.

"What do you mean?"

"We couldn't save him, his injuries were too severe."

I find myself shaking my head. "But he was the victor… he survived…" but even I am talking about him in the past tense.

Without thinking I pull back the sheet that is covering Loman. He is wearing a white hospital gown. There is no sign of any injury, no staining where the blood seeped through the bandage- nothing. I glance around the room- at the bins, at the instruments- nothing even looks as though it has been used- they are pristine. It is like a film set- too perfect to be real.

"How did he…"

"They tried to repair his spinal cord but it was not successful. Even if he had survived he never would have walked again."

But this can't happen… he is the victor. He needs to be interviewed and celebrated and sent to parties and forced to make up hobbies and go on the victory tour and mentor with me next year and… this isn't part of the deal.

"Do they know?"

"President Snow has been informed," she tells me.

Does Plutarch know? Our hope for the rebellion is gone… what are we going to do?

Without introduction or warning Plutarch's voice enters my head_, "I promise he will be the victor, yes. We need him, Finnick."_

He didn't promise he would survive the aftermath of the Games. He spoke before of martyrs and creating trouble. Could Plutarch really have done this? Did he kill this boy?

Then I remember the woman in the grey suit- I had seen her leaving Loman's room- what had she been doing in there?

"I need to go," I tell the doctor. She nods, moving forward to cover Loman's body again.

It's not just Aisling. I have got both of them killed.

I run outside and hail the first taxi I see. I don't care if this blows my cover, I don't care if anyone sees- I direct the driver to go straight to Plutarch's apartment. I have to know if he did this. I am pretty sure this is not an accident. Either Plutarch did this or Snow did. I have to know which.

I thrust a bundle of notes into the driver's hands, not stopping to check how much and I run into Plutarch's building, jumping into the elevator just as the doors are beginning to close. When I reach his floor I rush to his front door and bang it impatiently with my fist.

An avox answers. "I need to see Plutarch" I demand.

But she just shakes her head in reply.

"Where is he?"

She shrugs.

"When will he be back?"

Another shrug.

Somehow this makes it worse. If he knew about this then he would know that I would come to find him. He would know that I would want answers. It seems very convenient that he should be out.

The avox shrugs again and closes the door.

I turn to my phone and bash Plutarch's number in. it rings but he doesn't pick up. So I try again. And again. And Again. And Again… nothing.

I need an answer; I need to know why he didn't keep him safe in the arena- why he is willing to throw a boy's life away for his cause. I need an answer and I know I won't get it from Snow so he is the only person I can turn to. Yet even he has shut me out.


	106. Chapter 106

Unsure of what to do with myself, I decide to go for a walk. If I am lucky maybe I will run into Plutarch and I'll finally have some answers. He will have to return home at some point. I turn the corner, glancing over my shoulder to look back at Plutarch's building. I almost walk straight into a man he blocks the path in front of me.

"Mr Odair, could you come with me, please?"

I have no choice but to comply. He leads me to a car- a long, sleek, black limousine. He opens the door and gestures for me to get inside. I slide in onto the familiar leather seats but pause when I see who is sat in the seat opposite; President Snow narrows his eyes as he tries to figure out what I am going to do next. I am tempted to step out the car, one of my legs sits safely grounded on the pavement, although Snow's lackey has shut the door behind me just enough so there isn't enough room for the rest of me to follow my leg to freedom. Knowing I have no other choice, I pull my leg inside and try to make myself comfortable.

"Long time, no see," I say, forcing myself to smile.

"I thought it would be best if the two of us had a little _discussion_." He reaches down to an ice bucket by his feet and pulls out a bottle of something I can't read the label of. "But first, would you like a drink?"

Without waiting for me to answer, he uncorks the bottle and takes two glasses from a rack. As the blood-red wine spills into the glass only one thing lingers in my mind: poison: Snow's weapon of choice. The wine splashes against the side of the glass, swirling with the motion of the car. Is that what this is about? Is he going to poison me? I watch him closely, he puts nothing into either of the cups other than the wine, if it is poisoned then the poison must have been placed into the bottle.

"No thank you," I say, just as he begins to fill the second glass.

"Oh no," he says, "I insist." He finishes filling the glass then hands it to me.

I look down at it. Could this be my death? Even just holding it in my lap I can smell it- the strong fruity aroma of expensive wine. It looks so innocent, friendly even. Would he really give me poison? I don't know but I can't take the chance. I won't drink it.

"Drink up," he says, with a smile as he watches me. "It's fine stuff," he adds, as if he can read my thoughts. Saluting me with his cup, he takes a swig from his glass. If I am correct then he just drank the poison himself.

"Really, I'm fine," I leave my glass in my lap and wait for him to continue.

"There are a few things I feel are necessary for us to discuss. You are, of course, aware of Mr Scully's behaviour in the arena?"

"Of course, perhaps better than most considering the time I spent monitoring him in the control room."

"I found it interesting that the tribute of a known Praetorian conspirator happens to be spouting treasonous views."

"A strange coincidence," I manage to say, although suddenly my lips feel impossibly dry. Snow raises his eyebrows. I know he doesn't believe me.

"I hope you aren't going to make things difficult, Mr Odair."

"If you would like a straight answer I suggest you ask a straight question." I sound a lot braver than I feel but I have had enough of us skirting around the point. He wants to know something. That is the reason I am here…

"Was Loman Scully part of a Praetorian plot?"

If he wants answers, that means he doesn't want me dead… staring him straight in the eye I do the bravest thing I can think of: I sip the wine. It is strong, and its distinct flavour clings to the back of my throat.

Keeping my eyes fixed on Snow's, I answer him, "No."

He sighs. "I would have thought you'd had enough of playing games." He presses a button on the side of the car and talks into a speaker. "Take a left turn at the end of the road."

I feel the car take a tight turn. I try to look out the window but they have been blackened out. "Where are we going?"

"Just a place where we can talk."

The car pulls onto a new surface, from the way the wheels sound and the soft vibration I associate with uneven ground, I think it is gravel.

"What do you mean?"

"I need some answers and I intend to get them." He looks me squarely in the eye, "Are you going to cooperate?"

"I have already told you all I know, "I tell him.

"Alright," he says. He crouches forward and releases the handle on the car door, stepping out onto a gravel driveway. "Come with me."

I have no choice but to comply so I follow him out. We stand in front of a large grey block of a building that is punctuated with regular square windows. It looks like a group of offices but I doubt Snow wants me to check through some paperwork.

What can I tell him? I can say that I trained District 4 tributes. I can say that I turned Loman into a supposed criminal but that he came up with his arena strategy alone. I can say I have worked with the Praetorians- Snow already knows that. I cannot tell him about Plutarch- not after what happened to Hydra. I can't tell him about the plan.

We step inside the building. The foyer is completely empty. Snow presses his palm down on a bell and lifts it, making it ring.

A man arrives. My chest leaps as I recognise him. Tall with oily dark hair, he gives me the same grin he has given me every other time I met him. Consus Delore, Septimus Henge… whoever he is.

"I am going to leave you in the capable hands of my colleague," Snow says. "He will keep me informed. Unless, of course, you have changed your mind…?"

Maybe I should. If I give up Plutarch now then Snow will let me go. Whatever Snow's poisoner has planned for me, it will not be good. But what will happen if I give it all up? Will it be the end of the rebellion? The end of everything? The last hope for the districts dashed out? I can't just let it go. Not like this. I have faced the arena. I have seen my loved ones die. I have been raped and beaten. I have been tricked and lied to and made to feel like nothing. I will survive this.

I shake my head.

"Very well," Snow says, he nods to Henge then leaves.

"Don't look so nervous," Henge tells me, "We're just going to have a chat. Follow me."

He leads me down the long grey corridors, when we are just a few metres down a pair of peacekeepers fall in behind me, blocking the exit. I follow Henge down a flight of stairs, into what must be the basement. A row of what looks like cells run along this corridor. To try and keep myself calm I count them- thirteen in total- before we reach our designated room.

Henge pushes open the door. For a moment my insides curl as I remember the last time I stood alone in a room with this man. Is that what Snow has in mind? If he tries to beat me again I will not let him get away with it. I haven't drunk so much of that wine to have completely lost my senses.

Looking round the two peacekeepers I try to get a good view of the room. Inside the walls and floor are just grey cement- undecorated and rough. In one corner there is a table on which several large water butts are lined up in a neat row. In the middle of the floor a board is placed, attached to a box at one end so it gradually slopes downwards. Suddenly I understand what is to come.

They want to use water as a weapon against me. Too often I have seen people drown. I know the agony of it. I have felt the pressure on my chest as I dived down too long. I know its power as well as its beauty.

"You're lucky," Henge says, "Seems Snow doesn't want to ruin your pretty looks."

Strangely I find this comforting- if he doesn't want to ruin my looks that means he wants me alive. No matter how awful this is I am going to live to see Annie and Mags and Johanna and all the others again.

"So the water it is." Henge continues. "If you would rather answer my questions now we can get through this a lot faster."

I try to look him in the eye. This monster is giving me a chance to back out but if I do I will be a traitor. I will have to tell them the truth or find a believable way to lie.

"Was Loman Scully part of a Praetorian plot?" He asks, echoing what Snow said.

I pause a moment. This is my last chance to decide who I am going to be.

I should say something- make something up but my mind is blank. They won't believe me if I say there isn't a plot and if I do it might get dangerously close to the truth. What can I say? There must be something! I struggle to find an answer then I realise- I can't win either way. This will probably happen whatever I say. This isn't really about Snow finding out the truth, this is Snow punishing me because Loman was my tribute, because he knows I work for the Praetorians, because he knows he can't just kill me like he killed Loman, even though he wants to.

"I don't know."

"Right." Henge nods to the two peacekeepers and they grab my arms, pulling me to the ground.

I don't fight them, though I know what is coming. They force me onto the board, my head positioned downwards, my feet tied at the other end. They wrap rope around my torso, pinning my arms to my sides. Then a cloth is placed over my face and I can no longer see a thing.

I listen to their murmurs, their footsteps, and wait for the inevitable. I try to prepare myself- I try to think of Annie- something to keep me grounded. I relax my muscles one by one, hoping that when it happens I won't panic too much.

Still, when the water spills over my face, soaking the cloth, I lose it. Instantly I know I am dying. I can't breathe at all. My chest burns. My heart is the only thing that tells me I am still alive- thumping faster than I thought possible. My whole body longs to swim up to the surface, to find a way out, but I am still tied to the board and I can't break the ropes.

Spots dance across my vision. A face smiles down at me. The face turns into a small figure, a boy in a red coat standing at the edge of the water- my brother- Callan. He laughs and reaches out his hand towards me. I take it and together we skip across the rocks, two young boys out playing. The roar of the waves fills my head. As the sky grows darker he finally pulls away, scurrying away faster than I can follow him.

"I want to go with you," I tell him. But he shakes his head.

Annie's face jumps into my mind and someone pushes me up to sitting.

I pull the cloth off my face and gasp in a deep breath; I draw in too much at once and choke on it. Still spots dance in front of my eyes and I struggle to adjust to my surroundings. I want to throw up, I want to collapse, I want to cry but all I can do is struggle to draw in great hulking breaths to ease my burning lungs.

"Was Loman Scully part of a Praetorian plot?" Someone shouts into my ear.

"No… I… I don't know," I whimper, despite my resolve.

The two peacekeepers push me back down onto the board, this time, instead of tying the rope the two of them sit on my arms. I can't face it again. My lungs can't take it. I am going to drown. I can't breathe. I have to get away. I push against peacekeepers but they pin me down harder, until I am sure they are going to break my arms. I have to get away…

"No! No!" My screams are silenced as the water beats against my face, I try to gasp in a final breath to sustain me but I wasted it all on my final scream and all I draw in is water.

There is nothing I can tell them. I can't tell them the truth. I won't. I have to keep it together. I have to find a way…

Darkness quickly finds me.


	107. Chapter 107

"Good morning it's 8:30 and welcome to your latest update- we have news, news, news with Lux Bulla."

I awake, my cheek resting against cool concrete. I hear the shuffle of the guard's feet outside my door. I the report on everything that happened last night- the prisoner exercised, ate his food then slept. I hear the footsteps moving away and the volume on the radio suddenly goes up as the new guard settles into position.

I don't want to open my eyes. I don't want to see the three metre concrete box they have me caged in. I don't want to see the dusty grey walls or the bucket of piss in the corner. I wish I could be anywhere but here.

I would rather not move. It feels safer lying curled up in a ball, my knees pulled up to my chest. My body aches from sleeping on the hard floor yet I would still rather stay here than get up. But if I stop moving then maybe I'll stop doing other things too. I know how easy it is to lose yourself in their regimes. How easy it is to lose yourself while you try to survive. As the radio jingle plays I force myself to open my eyes and get to my feet. In this way the first hurdle of the day is jumped.

I have to keep going. Even if they keep me here for weeks or months, I need to keep going. I walk the two metres to the other end of my cell and make another mark on the wall- carving into the concrete with a jagged stone I found. Four days have passed since I first arrived and I haven't seen the sun once in that time.

The radio, which constantly sits outside my door, plays on. The guards listen to it day and night when on duty- I suppose it keeps them alert. The same ripples of music, news and chatter drift under my door hour after hour, adding structure to the monotony.

"Investigations into the death of Loman Scully are still being held despite medical personal insisting that his death was not malpractice. Otherwise his cause of death will not be treated as suspicious."

I wonder why they feel the need to point that out. The whole country saw Loman being attacked by an alligator. It should be pretty straight forward for people to believe that he died from his wounds. The fact that they have to reiterate this point can only mean one thing; someone is causing trouble. Someone must be suggesting that it wasn't the alligator. I wish I could see beyond these walls and find out what is really happening. The radio, like the rest of the media, censors the truth- buries it beneath euphemistic statements.

I stretch my limbs out, reaching as far as I can to the side, bending my knees and elbows, anything to keep moving. My joints click and my muscles ache but they feel better for it. To begin my morning routine I jog on the spot, this is followed by star jumps and then I climb up and down the single step that leads up to the cell door until I can feel the blood pumping round my body. I need to keep my strength up. I do these exercises three times a day. I try to stick to the same routine, even though the guards often have different ideas.

"Finnick Odair, Loman's mentor, is yet to make an official statement on his death." As if I didn't already know that.

Squats, sit ups, press ups… keep the body busy and the mind is occupied.

"Decisions are yet to be made about how the victory celebrations are to commence…"

I wonder how long they are going to keep me here. Surely at some point they must liberate me. It has been four days and already the news is commenting on my lack of appearances. At least that isn't censored. That, at least, must be in my favour.

A new set of footsteps thump down the corridor and the guards turn off the radio. I pause mid sit-up, trying to listen in on what they are saying.

"You need to report in at central," a deep voice says. "I'm going to take charge of the prisoner."

I wonder what that means exactly but he doesn't elaborate. My chest tightens. More questions, more water, more… I sink down onto my back, my burst of energy suddenly spent. I close my eyes as the key turns in the lock and I pretend to be asleep.

As the door opens I fight to keep still. It is as if a pulse of electricity surges through my body- everything feels twitchy, tightly wound to such a degree that there is nothing left but for me to completely unravel. I don't want to go back into that room. Not again. I can't.

"Get up," He nudges my side with his foot. I don't move. Maybe if I play dead he will leave me alone. "Get up," he says again, giving me a harder kick than before.

I feign waking, coiling myself up as I groggily come round. I let myself look up at him but I don't think I have seen him before. It isn't Henge, anyway.

"Come on!"

I get up. I stand opposite him. I want to look him straight in the eye. We are similar heights so it should be easy, except I can't. I just stare down at his boots, waiting for the next order.

He yanks the sleeve of my shirt, "Take it off!" he shouts, despite the small distance between us.

I fumble with the buttons but do as I'm told. This torture I am used to, prepare for in my mind. I throw my shirt to the floor and, even as he orders me to do so, I take off my trousers too. It feels as if there is not a single person in the Capitol who hasn't already seen me naked. I would happily choose this- whatever this is- over the water. I hesitate a moment when I am down to my underwear but he prompts me to continue so they fall to the floor as well and I stand there. Exposed. My body has no secrets anymore.

I wait, expecting him to push me to the ground, to press his body against mine, to huff and puff into my ear, but he doesn't.

"Follow me." He steps round me, giving me a wide berth as if he is afraid nudity is catching.

I follow him down the corridor, trying to ignore the looks I get from other guards- the nudges, the sniggers. He opens a door that leads into a long narrow room and points for me to go in.

Again the room is empty but unlike everywhere else it is tiled with hundred upon hundreds of square cream tiles. A selection of dials and knobs line the walls but i can't see what they are for.

"Stand against that wall."

I shiver as my bare feet cross the tiles. I don't know what this place is or why I am here. I glance at the man's face, trying to read him, but his features are like stone. I notice the gun slung over his shoulder and suddenly I wonder if I am going to die here. Tiles are easy to clean.

He stands in the doorway and presses a dial on the wall.

A flood of water spills down from overhead. I yell, expecting it to burn me or drown me. I remember the water gushing down my throat and filling my lungs. I imagine the guard rushing forward, grabbing my arms and holding my head under the flow. I am going to die here. I look around for a way out but he is blocking the only exit.

"Just get it over with!" I scream at him. I can't stand waiting for it to happen anymore. I feel myself crumbling. I sink down onto the tiles, bowing my head so the water glances away from my face.

He throws something at me; it lands on the floor by my leg. I look down at it. It is a washcloth.

"You need to wash, you stink."

I stare at him. He doesn't move any closer but keeps his distance, staying by the door. He kicks some soap across as well. It slides across the tiles to me, nudging my side. I stare down at it. It has only been four days and yet a washcloth and soap seem alien.

The water beats against my back. It soaks me but I can still breathe. I draw in a deep breath of the hot, steamy air- I let it fill my lungs. I stay still, feeling the water against my skin, still half expecting something bad to happen to me but it doesn't. Little by little my fear begins to wash away. I pick up the washcloth and soap.

I don't know why this peacekeeper is doing it but he is showing me a kindness, in his own limited way. He is reminding me that I don't have to be afraid.

* * *

><p>I sit on the floor, my legs stretched out in front of me. When the door opens I expect it to be a guard or maybe Henge for my daily session in the water room but it is Snow. I don't move.<p>

"Why is Loman dead?" I ask him.

"I think you already know why," he replies, stepping down into my cell and closing the door behind him. He stands over me but I don't look up at him.

"He said things you didn't like so you got rid of him." I pause. ""Why am I still here?"

He sighs but doesn't reply. Whatever he came here for it doesn't matter; my questions have stopped him in his tracks. I wait for him to continue the conversation rather than elaborating my point.

"According to Septimus you have said nothing, despite his persuasive techniques." It is an accusation rather than a statement.

"I couldn't speak, even if I wanted to. I've been trying to catch my breath. "

"You will."

I finally, strategically, look up. I see the sweat upon his forehead and the agitated look that flickers behind his eyes- he tries to hide it but I have seen it so often that I can't not see it. He is worried. "What's happening out there?" Out in the Capitol, in the districts, in all those places where they have to remind people that Loman's death is not being treated as suspicious.

"It is sometimes easy to forget the popularity of our victors, even ones that haven't even been initiated."

I slowly get to my feet so we can face each other on equal ground. "Now Loman's not the only one saying things you don't like, is he?" I move towards him, trying to force him to retreat, but he doesn't. "Are there riots? Protests?"

"You don't need to worry, Mr Odair, I have everything under control."

"See that's the thing- I don't think you do. You don't have a victor. It's not like you can get a runner- up, is it? No one else can just step into that gap and go on the victory tour as usual. It looks to me like you have a problem."

Snow continues to hold his ground but I don't back off. I want him to feel the pressure I have been feeling for the last four days while I have been trapped and tortured.

"I think you should be careful about what you say to me." He says.

"Why? This is stalemate. You can't touch me. By killing Janes, by killing Loman you have started something that you can't stop- it's already out of your control. Kill me now and I guarantee there will be an uprising."

"Well you are obviously full of your own self-importance."

"You tried to get information out of me and you've got nothing. You won't get away with hiding me here much longer. It's already in the news. People have noticed. If you don't release me everything is going to fall apart."

Finally, he steps back. "How very shrewd of you, Mr Odair. I hope, for your sake, that this impasse continues. You have a knack for believing yourself invincible regardless of everything I have done to prove otherwise."

"And yet I am still here." I grin at him, in spite of everything. "Remarkable, isn't it?"

"One day you are going to realise that life is not one big popularity contest."

"But you are going to let me go." I am certain of it. He has no other choice.

"You are going to make a statement to the press about the regrettable and sadly unavoidable death of Loman Scully."

"Don't worry; I will give the address like a good little boy." It is all very well being confident but I know he still controls my future. I have spent a long time rebuilding it but he could crush it in an instant. Not everyone I love is invincible.

"Good. Let's see to it."

He pulls open the door and allows me to step by him as though I am leaving his office after a meeting. As I walk out I try to keep my back straight and my head held high. I try not to show him the scars I bear under this façade, buried deep beneath the surface of my skin.


	108. Chapter 108

My throat feels dry and my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, held there by the string of lies I just told the nation. Loman's death was an unforeseeable accident. Everything that could have been done to save him was. His family will be well cared for back home in District 4. Some people will believe anything.

I hand back the microphone to one of the assistants and I head backstage. The first thing I need to do is find Mags and find out when the next train home leaves. I can't wait to get back and see Annie again.

Fabricius stands halfway down a corridor leaning against the wall. I haven't really had a chance to speak to him other than in my briefing before I went on air. I guess he knows what has been happening over the last few days, it is probably his job to make sure it is kept quiet. Maybe he will be able to shed some light on everything. I still don't know if Plutarch and the Praetorians were involved with Loman's death, not that I can ask Fabricius about that here.

I head towards him but I only make it a couple of steps before a peacekeeper blocks my path. "Where are you going?"

"I'm just going to talk to Fabricius." I would have thought that since they have let me go it is none of their business what I do but clearly that is not the case.

Fabricius steps forward, "It's alright; I have permission to speak to him."

The peacekeeper doesn't look entirely convinced but he lets me pass, eyeing Fabricius suspiciously.

"Maybe we should go into the dressing room then you can change out of those clothes" Fabricius says, pushing open the door next to him and letting me pass.

As the door shuts he throws a clean shirt at me.

"What's going on?" I ask him.

"We have to make sure you still look the part."

"What do you mean?" I ask, slipping the shirt on over my head.

"Everyone at the party is still expecting the same old Finnick Odair they know and love, we have to make sure that's what they see."

"What party?" This is the first I heard about it. I thought I would be able to just give my statement and then leave but obviously not.

"It's a celebration of the seventy-third Hunger Games, as the winning mentor you are expected to be there. The plan is for you to spend the evening at the party where Blasius has a date lined up- you will stay with your date until tomorrow morning when a car will pick you up."

"And take me where?"

Fabricius lowers his gaze.

Panic leaps up into my chest, suddenly I can't breathe. "And take me where?" I repeat, struggling not to shout, in fear that the peacekeeper will overhear.

"Back to the Carcere."

"The prison?"

He nods.

"But the agreement was that he would let me go home after the statement. They got nothing from me. There is nothing I can tell them. I thought- I thought that was it." I should have known better than to trust Snow. He is nothing but a snake in the grass, ready to strike me down at every hurdle.

"Snow still thinks you are part of a Praetorian plot. He isn't going to release you until he is sure you are no longer of use to them. To cover this up he is keeping you in the public eye. You will be released daily but only to perform duties he has set out for you. Everything you say will be closely monitored."

He bends down to pick up a pair of jeans which he throws at me. I catch them but I don't start to put them on. I need answers.

If he monitors me that closely there is no way I can risk talking to Plutarch or any of the other Praetorians. I can't contact Annie- I don't want to alert Snow too much to how much she means to me. It is bad enough as it is without getting her involved as well. She will worry, though, but there must be a way of letting her know what is going on- to make sure she knows I am safe.

"Is he going to keep interrogating me?" I don't think I can survive with that threat constantly hanging over my head. Not knowing if they are taking me for a shower or to be tortured. Surely there is only so much one man can take. Surely there has to be an end to this constant battle for survival?

"I don't know. I have told you everything they told me. I'm not important enough to know more."

"But why is he doing this now- why not before?" He has known I am involved with the Praetorians for a long time. Why didn't he just lock me up when he first found out- that way he could have been sure I would never be involved in a Praetorian plot again.

"You've got him scared. He monitored you closely before but now he is paranoid. My job is essentially to stop you becoming too powerful. I have to remind them that you are nothing but a pretty playboy."

"But how long is this going to last?"

Fabricius shakes his head. "I dunno. Until things settle down again, I suppose."

"What if it never does?"

He doesn't answer so the question is left hanging. I can't bear the silence so I busy myself by dressing in the jeans he handed me.

I need a way of telling Annie what is happening. I can't just leave her waiting for my return. She is surrounded by people who look out for her- her grandfather, the other victors but still I always worry when she is left alone.

"Is Mags going to be at the party?"

"I don't know."

"Can you make sure she is? I need to tell her that I won't be returning home. I don't want her to worry."

"I will see what I can do." Fabricius says.

Once I have zipped up my trousers he opens the door again and the pair of us step out into the corridor. He leads me outside where another car is waiting.

It hasn't quite sunk in yet. I still can't quite believe that I am still a prisoner- a prisoner without a definite release date. Darkness stretches in front of me as I think about it. I could be there hundreds, thousands of days in that cell, listening to the radio and the changing of the guards. What if they only let me out at night? I might never see sunlight again. I could never see my home again. I could spend the rest of my life away from all the people I love. Yet, if I resist this, then they could vanish all together and no longer exist at all. I would far rather know Annie exists somewhere in the world, though I am parted from her, than have her be lost not, only to me, but to everyone.

The party, as it turns out, is no different from any other I have been to in the Capitol. I recognise most of the guests and even my date is not unfamiliar to me.

As I dance with her I sense the same old feeling of a thousand eyes watching each move I make. Except this time it is not the inconvenient but acceptable product of celebrity but something a lot more sinister.

It is rare that Peacekeepers are sent to guard parties but tonight the stand round the edge of the room, placed neatly at two metre intervals with two positioned either side of the door. The announcement at the start of the party told us that they are there for security reasons- for our own safety. The quiet acceptance of this statement tells me that things can't have been good since the death of Loman. Even these shallow partygoers seem to be aware of the discord that has long reverberated throughout Panem, even if they are not entirely sure or care about the cause of it. The fact that they are concern for their lives is testament enough.

I try to control my roving eyes. I try to focus on my dance partner rather than constantly looking towards the door to see if Fabricius has found Mags but it is impossible. My need to see her is so great that I just can't focus on anything else.

Finally, as what feels like the hundredth song comes to an end, I see them. "Can you excuse me a moment," I say to my date. "I just need to speak to Mags, I will be right back."

She pouts and tries to make a joke about being jealous but I don't really listen. I know the peacekeepers are watching me as I head towards the exit, a couple of them move along the walls to get closer to the door. Maybe they are scared I am going to make a run for it, as if there is anywhere in the world where they couldn't find me.

"Mags!" About five pairs of ears immediately tune in to listen. I throw my arms around her because I need to and she is the only comforting person in the whole of the Capitol. She hugs me back in a way that makes me feel like a small child who is hugging his mother.

"I'm glad to see you," she says. She doesn't ask where I have been. Either she already knows or she too is aware of our audience.

"I've been meaning to talk to you," I tell her, "I won't be going back to District 4 for a while, I thought I would enjoy things here a little longer," I gesture to the room in general, hoping to convey a sense of everything being so marvellous that I would never be able to leave it behind. "I don't want you to feel like you have to stay here on my account. I know how you love the beach this time of year."

I know she understands what I am saying when she says, "You mean you are hoping I am going to look after your house while you are gone," she chuckles- anyone who didn't know her well would never doubt it wasn't genuine.

My house, my home- that is Annie. "I wouldn't trust anyone else with it."

"How long are you going to be gone for?"

"I don't know. Until I run out of parties, I guess." Another forced smile.

One of the peacekeepers moves towards us so I know we are going to have to wrap it up. Are all my conversations going to be like this from now on? Hurried, coded exchanges where so much has to be left unsaid?

Mags pulls me into another hug. "Look after yourself," she says and this time she can't quite keep it sounding light. I hold her as tightly as I can and plant a kiss on her cheek.

I really don't know how I am going to brave without her. Through everything she has always been there at my side offering me a shoulder to cry on and giving reassuring hand squeezes. This woman, although she appears so frail on the outside, is the strongest person I have ever known. I owe her everything and, no doubt, if I get out of this, I will owe her everything another thousand times. I wish I could tell her this but if I spoke now I don't think I could hold back my emotions any longer.

"Goodbye, son," she finally says, pulling away from me. She said son and honestly that is more real, more true and more meaningful than anything else in this entire city.

"I'm going to miss you," I manage to choke out.

"Pssh! You don't want an old woman like me cramping your style."

Before the peacekeeper can round on us Fabricius leads Mags away and I head back to my date. Looking around everything seems a little more garish than before- a little less like reality and more like a prop. It makes no sense that something so genuine can be surrounded by something so fake.


	109. Chapter 109

Gasping, clutching at my sides, I awake. I try to hold onto the dream a moment longer- I close my eyes even harder and try to trick my mind into returning. I picture it: the waves gently rolling across the sand, the white surf clutching at our ankles. I try to feel the warmth of the sun as it lingers on the sand. I try to smell the salty sea air. I force myself to think of her and slowly, piece by piece I reconstruct her face just to make sure it is still there- to be sure that I haven't forgotten a single bit of it.

I start with her hair- the wild tangle of brown that flows all around her face- I can picture the exact hue- deep and rich and glossy. Then her eyebrows- softly arched over her intense green eyes. Her nose- so ordinary it almost seems invisible yet it is just as important as the rest- the straight bridge, the freckles that sweep across it. I can feel the softness of her cheeks. I long for the curve of her lips as they hold that impossible expression that forces me to kiss her. It is all still there, more vivid, and more real than anything else.

I try to call myself back to her, to sit beside her on the beach, but the dream won't claim me again. I can no longer remain wrapped in memories.

I open my eyes. The bare light bulb swings overhead and the pitiful beam of light it gives off searches the room. As I roll over my hand flops off the edge of the narrow bed. I heavily lift myself up and move so I lay right in the middle again, facing towards the wall. It has been almost five months since they gave me this sagging and rickety old bed and still I'm not used to it.

I don't know what time it is, or what day it is. I lost count a long time ago. After the first month the marks on the wall didn't really seem to matter anymore. I could make marks until there is no space left but it doesn't bring me any closer to my release. Sometimes I hear the date on the radio but that's not going to help me either. It is just numbers and words. They make no difference now.

I don't know what I hate more, being in my cell or being released for events in the Capitol. Neither is particularly appealing. I suppose I should be glad of the company but every night is just a new kind of torture. I no longer disappear when I am with them- not entirely. One thought always slips through the net, no longer trapped behind the monster's defences. Annie. I close my mind to their intruding faces and instead of the usual nothingness, I see her. I feel her in my chest and in my throat and in my blood. In this way I have made love to her a thousand times.

Nothingness is not enough. It is Annie who keeps me sane. She is my lighthouse through this darkness.

Sometimes the dream shatters and I see through the cracks to their loveless, simpering faces. Then something, I don't know what, dies a little. It just rots away to a decaying core. A ship dashed on the rocks.

I wish I could never wake up.

The light bulb goes out. It is replaced by the rows of tanning lamps that line one wall of my cell. They turn on once a day for an hour. The light isn't concentrated but it is meant to reflect the amount of sun I would get if I was allowed to walk outside at midday. Apparently no one wants to see Finnick Odair looking pale. I feel the heat as it hits my back through the blanket but it is nothing like the sun.

Unwanted thoughts race through my mind and I can't just push them away. They niggle and nibble at anything they can sink their teeth into. Stupid pieces of Capitol gossip, meaningless drivel- there is too much time to think and nothing to distract me. They swirl around my head.

Sequins have become a major trend.

The sale of goods in the Capitol is up by 9%

Excess rainfall has caused the canal to overflow.

Marcus Derowe and Philipina Aurelius have split after their ten month love-affair.

Six months of fake and throwaway news.

They don't mention Loman anymore. In the beginning there were daily updates that detailed every moment in the investigation into his medical treatment. Once it was declared that there was no malpractice the news shifted towards staged condolences. Prominent figures, who would probably have struggled to recognise Loman on the street, gushed about him, cried over him- it became quite the fashion statement. Next their attention turned to speculation over the scheduled victory tour.

What are they going to do? Would it still go ahead? What about the party? It will be a terribly dull season without it. Whole newsreels based on speculation. The real news never appears on the radio.

Now, finally, there is silence. It is as if he never existed at all. If the protests and riots and strikes continue they are no longer mentioned, not even in the cryptic terms adopted by Capitol newsreaders.

Clearly it is a conscious decision. Snow wants to make sure that the whole thing is swept under the carpet. A host of new events suddenly appeared about a month ago to fill the obvious gap. I have been sent to grand openings and fashion shows and fundraisers and remembrance days and parades and garden parties.

"Alba Snow's book, which documents and celebrates the life of her grandfather, is now available to purchase." The guard's radio announces.

My ears perk up at the familiar name. I knew Alba was a writer but I never imagined she would become her grandfather's biographer. Surely she has not been permitted to print the truth- she probably doesn't even know the truth. It will all be sugar-coated and sanitised for the public's consumption so they can marvel at their great leader.

"Both the President and his granddaughter will be present at a book launch where thirty copies of the book will be signed as part of a limited edition set which will be auctioned off next week."

I am surprised that Alba is still spending time in the centre of the city. Somehow I imagined her disappearing somewhere after the Cardea scandal.

I guess the book signing is another event to add the calendar. Although, I hope, in light of our history, it is not an event that I will be forced to attend.

The citizens have got so caught up in all these events it is no surprise that they are no longer wondering about Loman.

I still wonder, though.

What is Plutarch doing right now? I wonder if he has given up on me- accepted that I am lost to the other side or if he is still trying to figure out a way to get me out

But I don't want to think about that now. I don't want to think about any of that now. I will think about it tomorrow…

The door swings open and Henge walks in. I can tell it is him by the way his feet shuffle across the floor.

"Get up!" he shouts.

I pull the blanket tighter around myself and imagine Annie is holding me. I don't move. I can't. I need to stay in this room.

"Get up!" he says again. He grabs hold of the blanket and rips it off the bed.

I instinctively curl up tighter, trying to disappear.

He grabs my shoulder and begins to pull. I fight against him and the words fall out my mouth before I really get a chance to think about them. "What if I gave you information?"

The hand loosens. "It depends what the information is."

I don't know. If I tell them about Plutarch will they let me go? Surely that is important information- it must be worth something to them. He is a Gamemaker- caught in the centre of their organisation. He has influence. He has been leading operations for years. He must know a lot of information. He must know the names of many other Praetorians. As far as I know the Loman plot was his idea. If I turn him in they will have won the jackpot.

Surely then I will be freed. Then I could go home. I will see Annie again.

It's not like Plutarch is innocent. I am sure he played a hand in Loman's death. He was there when Hydra killed my family. How many people has he lied to and manipulated? Surely if anyone deserves this, it is him. I shouldn't feel any regret about this. This is the right thing to do.

I turn over to face him. The light from the sunlamps dazzle me so I sit up. "Will you let me go if I tell you?"

"As I said, it depends on what information you have. Since your arrest we have obtained a number of other sources of information."

"I won't tell you anything unless you promise to let me go."

"Only the president can make that decision."

"Then bring the president here and the two of us will make a deal." I actually get to my feet. My legs ache from being folded up too long but even so I feel stronger for standing upright.

I don't care about the rebellion. I don't care about changing things for the districts. I have spent so many hours caring and trying and failing and it's not good enough anymore. I am twenty-two years old and I have already lived a lifetime of misery. I feel as though I have done it all- there is nothing left for me to do but to be happy and in love and be allowed to be so. I don't know what grand plot Plutarch has in mind but I'm not part of it. I am not getting involved any longer. I am going to go home and piece together some sort of life for me and Annie. To hell with it all.

I stare right into his eyes so Henge sees I am serious. He quickly nods his head. "Alright," he says, "But this better be worth our while."

"Believe me, it will be."

As he pulls open the door to my cell he is forced to move back as President Snow steps over the threshold. He looks straight passed Henge to look at me.

"You need to follow me," he says.

"Mr Odair was just about-" Henge tries to explain but Snow dismisses him with a wave of his hand.

"I will handle this, Henge." Then he looks back at me, "Come on."

And for some reason, maybe because of the tone of his voice or the way he so suddenly turned up, I just follow him. He leads me through the winding corridors. I recognise the route as the one leading up to the main entrance. I don't know what time it is but I haven't seen Snow in months and it must be too early in the day for a party. I am still dressed in my crumpled clothes from last night.

When we step out of the main doors, I am blinded by the sun. I haven't seen it in so long. Black spots dance across my vision and I struggle to stagger after Snow who heads straight for a long black car.

"Where are we going?"

He doesn't reply.

He doesn't say a word all through the twenty minute car journey. It is only when the car stops and the driver opens the door for me that he finally breaks the silence.

"Go home," he says, as if talking to a runaway dog.

"What?"

"Go home," he repeats.

For a moment I freeze. This must be some sort of trick- another torment to mess with me. Yet the driver still holds the door open and just beyond him I see the train station.

Caught in a dream, I slip from the car and hear the roar of the engine as it pulls off behind me.

I'm free. I just wish I understood why.


	110. Chapter 110

Outside my house someone has planted a large bed of flowers to the left of my front door. The blue flower heads bob in the breeze as if they are talking to one another- as if they are amazed that I have returned and feel the need to gossip about it. I wonder who planted them and why- whether they were intended to welcome me home or as a homage to my passing.

I look up at the house; all the curtains are drawn back so I can look right into the blank, empty rooms beyond. After my time in the Capitol I need something other than emptiness.

I turn away from my house and head to Annie's. I tiptoe up to her front door and push it open. It creaks. The hinges must need oiling. I stop and listen but Annie can't have heard because her house remains silent.

I can't wait to see her- I can't wait to see the expression on her face when she sees me. It is still quite early so she is probably still in bed. This is the perfect chance to surprise her. I can't help but grin as I picture sitting down next to her as she sleeps and watching her a moment- seeing every detail of her face, just as I imagined it all these months. Then I will plant a soft kiss on her lips and watch as her eyelids slowly flutter. She will be dreaming- maybe even dreaming of me- and when she awakes, there I will be. It is the perfect reunion. All those mornings I spent in prison longing for that sweet moment when my most desperate dreams could become reality and now I get to live it.

I take the stairs one step at a time, trying to find the exact spot where I can silently tread. If I wake her now it will ruin it. Butterflies flurry in my stomach. I am so close to her and yet she still feels so far. It is near impossible to hold myself back and continue to make the slow, steady ascent up the stairs. I want to run and burst into her room but this chance s too good to miss. I know she would have dreamt of this moment, just as I have. Now I have the chance to give it to her.

I gently turn the doorknob and peer inside her room. The bed is empty.

"Annie?!" I shout, unable to keep it inside anymore. "Annie?"

I run from room to room, looking for her but she isn't in the study or the lounge or the kitchen or the bathroom or in any other room. Gone. I guess when no one is expecting you to come home you can't really expect a welcome party.

I run out of Annie's house. I have to find her. If she isn't in her house and she isn't in mine then she is probably in Mags'.

Without even trying to be quiet I charge into Mags' house.

"Mags? Annie?"

I get about two steps down the hallway when Sorley steps out of the lounge. "Finnick? You're back?"

Annie pushes past Sorely, running so fast I can hardly take her in, "Finnick!" she screams.

Her body slams into mine and I fall back slightly, unready for the assault. It is so sudden that I can hardly believe it. It is strange to feel her body against mine, to smell her hair, to feel the warmth of her breath on my arm. She is everything I imagined and more. Every little thing, that is so easily lost in memory, comes back and she is again complete in my mind.

A lump rises in my throat and my face begins to burn. It is too much. Annie is saying something to me but I can't quite take in the words properly. I am still trying to reconcile my endless longing for this moment with the actual living of it. I can't let go of her. When I feel her start to pull away I lift her off the ground and spin her around until the whole room is a blur and Annie is all I see.

"Finnick," she says, breathlessly. There are tears in her eyes. I think she is having just as hard a time believing this as I am.

"I can't believe I'm here- that's you're here. I just- I can't tell you how many times I thought and imagined and-" but my stream of jabber dwindles when I see the look on her face- the look on Sorely's face.

"Finnick-" she says.

"What's wrong?" I look from Annie to Sorely but neither of them answer. I step towards the door but Sorely continues to block my path.

"There was no way we could contact you."

"What's going on?" I try to look beyond him into the lounge but I can't see much- only Paddy knelt down by one of the chairs and Ardal pacing the floor.

I push by Sorley.

"Finnick!" Sorely tries to grab my arm and pull me back but I nudge him off.

I struggle to take in the scene at first. Mags sits in one of the chairs, her back to me- only her white hair is visible over the back. Paddy is on the floor, one of his hands smoothing hers as he whispers to her. I can't quite pick up what he is saying because it is so soft but he has a watery smile.

Ardal stands by the window now, his arms folded across his chest as he looks out at the view. He slowly rocks on his heels but he pays no attention to either Mags or Paddy.

"I'm home now," I say.

Paddy looks up and gets to his feet. "Good to see you," he says, his voice strangely formal.

"How is everyone?" I say, still looking at them, still trying to figure out exactly what is going on.

No one answers me.

I move further into the room, crossing into the main seating area where Mags is sat. "I've been looking forward to seeing you, Mags," I tell her.

As I get round the front of the chair I finally get a look at her. She is sat completely still- like a statue. The right side of her mouth and her cheek droops downwards in a way I have never seen before. Her body doesn't move but I see her eyes turn to look at me, suddenly moist.

I throw myself down on the floor in front of her, instinctively grabbing hold of both hands. "Mags…" She doesn't grip my hands back, they are just lifeless. "What happened?" I ask. "What happened?"

"She had a stroke- Sorely found her about a week ago."

"But what does that mean?"

Paddy shakes his head. "She's paralysed on her right side and she can't speak yet but the doctor thinks things will improve."

Thoughts rush through my mind- snippets of ideas but none stick around long enough for me to think. I realise one things though: Paddy is talking as if Mags isn't here. As if losing her ability to move and her ability to speak has turned her invisible or into something that is less than a person.

Suddenly Annie is at my side, holding me. She looks up at Mags, "We knew he would come back, didn't we?" she smiles.

Mags makes a soft gargling noise in the back of her throat, as if she is trying to find some words to reply but can't quite remember how her tongue needs to curl around the letters or how her lips needs to shape the sounds.

I get to my feet, "But what are we meant to do to help- there must be something we can do, right?"

Paddy shrugs, "I don't know. We've been helping her as best we can between the four of us but no one seems to know."

"She just needs our help, we can make this better, I know we can," I grab her hands again. "Mags, I want you to squeeze my hand. You can do it, I know you can." I look into her eyes, willing her to be able to do it, desperate to know that some part of her still remains. "Just one little squeeze."

"Finnick…"

"No, you can do it, I know you can. I believe in you, Mags. You have to be able to do this." I softly squeeze her hands, "Look, like this." I wait to feel the reassuring grip of my hands which I have grown to depend on over the years- just some sign that things are going to be alright. "Please… I know you must be tired but… just for me?"

I close my eyes a moment, trying to focus all my energy into my hands, hoping it will somehow flow through me and into her, hoping it will somehow fix things. I wait, not even daring to breathe in case I miss it but I still feel nothing.

I open my eyes and look into hers. She blinks, slowly, deliberately. I can almost tell what she is trying to say- I am too tired, Finnick. It is just too hard.

"I know it is," I tell her, as if she had spoken aloud. "But I am going to help you through this- I am going to make you get better and this is the first step. All you have to do is squeeze my hand."

I wait again.

"Come on, Finnick, that's enough," Sorely says, placing his hand on my shoulder, "I know it's a lot for you to take in right now but-"

It is light but I feel it- a single soft pulse in my left hand. I look at her, finally able to breathe again. "Thank you."

"Come on, Finnick, it's been a tough day for you- you should go and get some rest," Sorely says. I allow him to help me to my feet.

"I will come back tomorrow, though," I tell him. "She is strong. We are going to make her better."

Sorely turns to Annie, "Why don't you take him home? He's had a bit of a shock."

Annie nods and takes me by the arm.

I still can't believe I am back. I can't believe that Annie is here. I can't believe… it feels like I only saw Mags yesterday at that party. She seemed so full of life. She has always been old but it never once occurred me that anything could happen to her. I never thought… she was always so strong.

I will try and help her. I will call her back to me like I called Annie back. Things might not be just as they were before but I am going to make things better. She deserves that much. I am going to do everything in my power to make this right- even if the others don't believe it's possible.

Annie takes out her key to my house and unlocks the door. Even though we are outside I can still hear the phone ringing in the hallway. It will be Plutarch or Blasius or Fabricius. They will have more jobs for me but I am too busy for that.

Saving the world doesn't matter. First I have to save Mags, because I owe that to her and because she has already saved me a thousand times over.

When the door is open, I run straight for the phone but instead of answering it I rip the cable out of its socket and throw the whole thing on the floor.

This is it. No more revolution. This is the first time I have been home in six months. I am going to spend every moment I have with my family.

Annie wraps her arms around me which is good because suddenly I feel incredibly weak and I'm not sure if I can stand up anymore. The weight of it all is suddenly too much.

"If anyone can bring her back, it's you." She whispers. "I'm glad you're back. We need you."


	111. Chapter 111

I hope this is going to work. I hope it will bring her back to us. I hoist the box up under my arm to stop it from slipping. At least it is worth a try. Since I returned home things have got a little better. We all try to coax her into giving us rare smiles. We push her to try and move in hope that her body will start to remember. We bumble through conversations and sometimes I think I understand what she is trying to say even though it is so garbled that it sounds like another language.

I look up at the Victor's Village and all the promises it holds. Everything I have ever wanted is right there, waiting for me. Annie. Mags…. She is going to get better. I know she will. She would never leave me. Things might be bad right now but the good will return again and I will finally find some peace.

The sun glances off the white walls of our homes, obscuring them. I duck my head trying to make them visible, just to make sure. No matter how many weeks pass I still I half expect it all to disappear, to crumble into nothing so I am surrounded by the walls of my cell again. I half expect a man in a black suit to jump out from the bushes and tell me there has been a mistake and that I have to return to the Capitol immediately. It is so quiet here, so beautiful- that is the perfect way to disguise the true danger. They are just trying to lull me into a false sense of security- make me think everything is going to be alright before they take it all away again.

"Finnick, hey Finnick!"

I turn to see Rordan running up the path behind me, he stumbles, almost falls, as he struggles to catch up.

"I'm pretty busy right now," I tell him, walking a bit faster. If I can get up the hill then I can go to see Mags and I'm sure Rordan won't follow me there.

"I only found out you were back today. How come you didn't come to find me?"

I shrug and keep walking.

"I'm sorry about what happened to Loman. I mean, if he hadn't volunteered, that could have been me."

"Lucky you." I manage to say. Suddenly I don't feel well. The path tilts slightly and I feel myself reel to the left. Rordan doesn't seem to notice.

"I was hoping we could get together to discuss 'our friends'"

I know he means the Praetorians. What else would this ridiculous boy be talking about in the open where anyone could over hear?

"I mean, we need to figure out what we are going to do next." He trots to catch up with me so we are walking shoulder to shoulder. The path is barely wide enough to accommodate both of us.

"We're not going to do anything." No point filling his head with any delusion. As far as I'm concerned the rebellion is over. The Praetorians are over.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm through with it."

He runs in front of me, blocking my path. "But you can't be."

"Well I am." I try to step round him but he won't let me. "Get out my way, otherwise I'll-"

"You can't just give up on it. They need you. This is what you are supposed to do. You are lucky enough to have influence. Most people don't have that. You can make a difference."

"Yeah, right, the only difference I've ever made is to make myself more miserable."

"But it is going to change- I know it will. Loman's death is just the beginning." He is getting frantic. I guess he is pretty desperate to be involved- to feel as though what his parents did was worthwhile. So it wasn't all in vain. But I'm not here to make him feel better- I am barely here at all- a fact that he doesn't seem to understand. What does he know of the Praetorians or fighting to survive or trying to make a difference? He has given up nothing. He has experienced nothing in comparison.

"Try telling that to his family." That at least he should understand. I push him off the path and continue up the hill.

Maybe I won't go to Mags' house just now. I think I need to be alone. If I lock myself in my bathroom he won't be able to follow me. Except… I shiver, thinking of the way the tap slowly drips. I shake my head, trying to compose myself. I won't think about that now.

"But Finnick-"

"But what? Just because this is something your parents believed in it doesn't mean I have to believe in it too."

"But you do, I know you do! Whatever they did, whatever they said, it doesn't matter. We need to-"

"We?" I scoff. "What good are you going to do? You're just some dumb kid with some romantic idea about saving the world. Just forget about it, ok?" As the words spill from my mouth I see them hit him. He flinches, moves back as though I have struck him. He turns away from me but I can still see the familiar watery glimmer as it shines from the corner of his eyes. "This isn't your parent's legacy for you. They didn't want you to follow this. It isn't a game. You know nothing about it. All you are going to do is get yourself killed. Just like everyone else. You are rash and stupid and naïve and-"

"And what?!" he yells.

But suddenly I have lost my train of thought and I don't know what to say any more. So some unthinking impulse just spits out the final word "unwanted."

It takes a second for it to sink in and then he chokes. I visibly see him break and I can't stand it.

I should take it back. I should tell him it is all going to be alright but I can't because I don't dare go back to that place again. Anything I could say now would just destroy him further.

"Well at least I'm not a coward," he tries to hiss it but it comes out as great, bellowing sob.

I don't even look at him; I just turn and walk away as fast as I can. I can't face it. I can't stand it.

Aware that I am still carrying the box, I head to Mags' house. I frantically push open the front door and try to hurry into the living room where I know she will be sat but I only make it to the hallway before I dissolve.

I try to hold it back but the more I do the more the sobs burst through. I shove my fist into my mouth, afraid that someone will hear. No one can see me break. I have to be strong. They are all depending on me to bring Mags back. I am the glue that has to hold everyone else together. I will be brave. I will pull myself together.

I draw in deep breaths, trying to calm myself. I glance at my reflection in the hall mirror. I try to turn the corners of my mouth up into a smile but the more I try, the more the edges droop downwards. My eyes look too bright- the green almost glowing. I can't go in there looking like this. They will see right through me. Knowing that just makes it worse. Rordan is right. I am a coward.

"Finnick?"

I gasp. Someone knows I'm here. I quickly wipe away my tears and fashion my face into some sort of expression.

Annie peers round the doorframe. She smiles. "There you are. I hoped it was you."

I glance at the mirror. The tears are gone but my eyes still look unnaturally shiny but if Annie notices she doesn't say anything.

"Mags has been waiting for you." She takes me by the hand and leads me into the living room, directing me right in front of Mags' chair. I wonder if she knows and this is her way of trying to sort me out. I can't help but to casually rub at my eyes again. I don't want them to see. I'm supposed to be the strong one.

"Hello, gorgeous," I say.

Mags muddles some sounds together in reply. I know what she would say- 'what do you want? You wouldn't be that nice to me if you didn't want something.'

I can't help but smile. Typical Mags.

"I bought something for you," I hold up the box for her to see. "If you want it, though, you are going to have to open it."

I place it in her lap where she can easily reach it. She gives me a puzzled look but clumsily moves her left hand across to paw at it. She nudges at the lip trying to push it off. She moves so slowly now and I can tell by the pauses between each movement that it exhausts her but she keeps going until the lid comes free. I help her with the final stage and put the lid on the floor.

"What is it?" Annie asks.

Inside only tissue paper is visible so I reach in and pull out one of the shoes and hold them up so Mags and Annie can see.

Annie frowns when she sees them but a soft glimmer of a smile appears on Mags' face.

"I hope they look right." I tell her. "I didn't know exactly which ones to choose but Delaren said these were probably the closest to the ones they used to have."

Mags runs her hands across the soft brown leather and over the heels of the shoe as softly as if she were smoothing a cat.

I turn to Annie. "Before I went into the arena Mags told me a story. She said she knew a girl with a pair of blue heels and she wanted a pair just like them. Her parents bought her a pair of brown ones. She wore them to the reaping and they got lost in the Capitol. I knew I would never be able to find the real ones so I did the next best thing." I turn to Mags, "Do you want to try them on?"

She murmers something. I lift the shoe out her lap to place it on the floor but before I do she grips hold of my hand and squeezes it tighter than I have ever felt her do since she got home.

"sfan yuh." Thank you.

That is almost enough to crack my smile but I quickly stoop down, hiding my face as I slip the shoes onto her feet. I draw in a couple of deep breaths before rising again.

"Looks like you're ready for some dancing now," I tell her, holding out my hands.

She closes her eyes, telling me she is too tired.

"It's rude to refuse a dance," I tell her.

Gently, supporting her arms and her back, I pull her to her feet. She is a dead weight but a light one. Although I place her shoes on the ground, practically all of her weight is on me.

"And there you were trying to claim you're too tired!" I tease her.

Annie goes over to the old gramophone and puts on a shaky old record and a discordant song lilts through the air.

Mags holds onto my arm with her left hand and I can feel her left foot taking some of the weight but on the right side she is completely dependent on me. We don't really move, just sway from side to side for a bit.

"You've improved," I tell her. "I haven't tripped over your feet once."

Less than a minute has passed when I feel her droop as tiredness takes over. I scoop her up into my arms and gently spin her before placing her back into her armchair. I kiss her hand, bowing flamboyantly low.

"Thank you for that dance." Then I turn to Annie, "Milady?"

She giggles as she takes my hand and together we make a few turns in the cramped centre of Mags' living room. Mags watches us with smiling eyes, her left foot tapping on the floor in time to the music.

Next time maybe she will dance with me for a whole song. And the time after that maybe she will put some weight on her right foot and maybe then she will start to sway too and spin and really dance. Every day things are getting better. This is how it is meant to be. I am not going to let them take this away from me again. I am not going to break down. I am going to get through this.


	112. Chapter 112

"Annie?"

She turns to face me and I catch her lips with mine. Out of focus, I watch as her eyes stay open, staring into mine as if trying to fathom the sudden urge that has possessed me.

She lets my body guide her back onto the bed but her hands stay by her side, as if afraid her touch could break the spell. I keep my eyes on her; scared to blink, frightened to look away in case the dream falls into a nightmare.

"Annie," I say her name again, breathing it softly across her cheek. Ann-ie- the only two syllables that when placed side by side can make my heart soar, soar, soar high above everything else. A glorious sound peppered with the taste of freedom and love and joy. I am here, I am alive and she is by my side. I want to do this. I have wanted to do this for a long time and I am not going to let them take it away from me anymore. They can't have this as well. Suddenly all my doubts just slip away, replaced by resolve.

I'm through with falling apart. I am going to be strong. I draw in a deep breath and try to push anything that isn't Annie away from my mind. I will stay here in this room- with her. I will cherish every minute, every second.

"Are you ok?" she whispers.

"Never better," I tell her, ignoring the lump which clings to my throat. I force it down. Not now. Not ever again.

I kiss her lips, her cheek, the end of her nose, then I trace a line with my mouth from her jaw down to her collarbone.

"I love you so much," I gasp into her neck.

"I love you too."

I pull my shirt off over my head, ignoring the buttons in my haste. Finally her soft hands touch my skin, tentative at first but growing in confidence with each caress. Her eyes are locked with mine, the whole time. She explores the skin on my chest, as if examining it- looking for something, although I don't know what. I bow my head to kiss her again but she clutches my face, stopping me mid-flow.

"What did they do to you?"

Instinct tells me to recoil, to back away so I don't have to face it but I force myself to stay. "Nothing I can't handle."

One of her fingers follows the curve of my arm. She looks down, "How come you're not broken?" I can hear the worry in her voice.

I want to tell her that I am, that I have fallen apart and been sewn back together so many times that I ought to look like Frankenstein's monster, but I don't. I have told her nothing about my time in prison but instinctively she knows it should have destroyed me. Admitting that, though, would only give them more power, enough to make the final defences collapse.

"How do you keep going?"

"Because of you. You keep me going. Through everything. It doesn't matter what they do. It is never going to change this."

"But-"

"Don't. Not now. Please…"

"Alright."

Slowly, moment by moment, we emerge from our cocoons. Her body presses against mine and I can feel the heat between us. Hungrily, starved by emptiness of everything that came before, I slowly devour her and let myself be devoured too.

Sex. Love. They aren't the same thing. Not always. But this… this is everything. Looking into her face, watching her nervous excitement, feeling every movement, every look, every smell and touch and taste- it is finally complete. No longer synonymous with torture and perfection, the two parts can finally be one loving whole.

Flushed with the heady glow of climax, I fall back onto the bed, clutching her to me, afraid she might vanish if I take my eyes off her for a single second.

She smiles up at me, "You stayed," she says in a small voice. I can tell she can hardly believe it. All those times I disappeared behind the monster, unable to face continuing and yet this time it felt so easy.

"You are too good to miss." I tell her, kissing her hair as a satisfied and soothing sleep drifts over me.

* * *

><p>The six of us sit in Mags' living room, an uncomfortable silence lingering in the air.<p>

"Well someone has to go," Sorely says, looking around at everyone else. "Finnick can't go alone."

Time seems to have passed far too quickly. Suddenly only a week of freedom sits between me and my return to the Capitol. Me and Annie sit hand in hand. Part of me, the selfish part, wants to ask her to come with me to mentor at the Games- just so I don't have to leave her behind- but I know it will do no good. Any mention of the Games and she seems to disappear. To be faced with it day after day would be impossible.

"Well Annie can't go," I say. "She needs to stay with Mags," I quickly add when I see the look on her face.

"I could go," she says quietly to an empty space at the far side of the room. I don't know what she sees but it definitely seems as though she is talking to an invisible person. "I would like to go to one of the parties. The dancing-"

Mags interrupts though, telling Annie that she couldn't manage without her in her jumbled way. I give her a grateful look. She still always knows the right things to say. I don't want the others to talk her into going just because they don't want to.

"Well obviously I would be the natural choice," Ardal tries to say but Paddy cuts across him.

"I'll do it," he says with a sigh. "I don't want to, but I'll do it. I mean, someone has to put up with Finnick and I guess it is my turn to be the hero." He winks at me.

Ardal looks disappointed but we all know that if we took him up on his offer he wouldn't even turn up on reaping day.

I don't know what kind of mentor Paddy is- I don't even know if he has ever mentored before. Hollis mentored with Mags before I did and Sorely before that. However, no one objects so I guess it must be a reasonable suggestion.

No one even asked me if I wanted to go, they all knew I had no choice. Snow might have let me walk free from prison but there is no way he would allow me to shirk the rest of my 'duties'.

Annie gives my hand a reassuring squeeze, as if she knows what I am thinking about.

Reaping day comes round far too soon. The final days disappear in seconds and I feel everything start to slip away around me. I have to go back. I have to face them again. I almost break my promise to myself and I have to force myself together again, despite the string of worries that whirl round my brain. What if they put me back in prison? What if the praetorians are angry that I have ignored them since I got home? What if I can no longer face those sweaty nights on damp bed sheets now I have experienced the real thing? What if I can't hold myself together?

I don't want to leave Annie, even for just a couple of weeks. It is too long. Two weeks feels like an age to be apart but a second when we are together.

"It isn't for very long," she says, more to reassure herself than me, I think. Her fingers twitch in her lap, searching for something to distract them.

"No. And I will come right back this time." Without any jobs for the Praetorians there is a chance that I will be able to just slip away once our tributes are out of the Games.

We share a painful goodbye in her house before separating for the crowds at the reaping. Although our chairs are next to each other on the podium, knowing that I can't reach out to her, knowing that even a simple glance could be too much, the gap between the chairs seems infinite.

I practically zone out as the same old routine presents itself. The girl's name is called followed by the boy's and the escort asks if there are any volunteers and Rordan steps forward and takes the place of a snivelling twelve year old. Wait- Rordan?

I try to intercept him as the peacekeepers direct him into the justice building but they won't let me. I am shut out as his family- Sorely and his friends visit him. A peacekeeper tells me it is time to board the train and Paddy leads me away. I pace the length of the dining car as I wait for him to arrive. By the time he steps inside, so much has built up inside me that I am unable to hold it back at all. I pounce on him.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?"

"Nice to see you again too, Finnick," he says.

I pound his arm, not caring that girl tribute is staring at me in horror. "You need to come with me!" I tell him and I drag him right along the length of the train to the very end and out into the open where our words might be carried away by the wind and I allow myself to erupt.

"What is this! Never volunteer! After what happened last year- I thought you would have learnt your lesson- you saw what happened to Loman- you said yourself that you were lucky to still be alive and then you go and do something like this. Are you some kind of an idiot? Have you even thought about what this might do to Sorely? He cares for you- he is looking after you- this is going to- This is the stupidest thing you have ever done- this is the stupidest thing that anyone has ever done in the history of stupid things. You are going to be killed- you are going to die- there is nothing I can do to help you- you realise that don't you? You are going to die. And for what? For some dumb idea- some dumb dream that doesn't even exist. Stupid! Idiot! Child! Do you have any idea what you have done? "

I want to punch him, kick him, scream at him. I want to throw him over the end of the train- anything to stop him reaching the Capitol- anything to save him from what I know is going to happen next because it has got to be better. I almost strike him but I hold myself back, gripping onto the railings instead until my knuckles are white. It feels like my skin might split open but I know if I let go I will do something I will regret- again.

"I had to do something!" he shrieks, "Someone has to stand up to them. My parents would have wanted-"

"For you to get yourself killed?"

He stops then. The weight of what I am saying sinks in. Both of us stop and an inexplicable moment of calm sweeps over us as we both try to collect our thoughts.

"Well it's not like we can change it now, anyway," he says, throwing a kick at the railings in frustration. "Either you can help me or I can do this on my own- it's your choice."

He's right- nothing I say or do now is going to change anything. It is a stupid and rash decision of a naïve child but it is a decision that has already been made.

"Like I have a choice," I scoff.

"Does that mean you are going to help me?"

"Yeah, I guess that means I am going to help you," I say. Although, truthfully, I don't think I have the strength for it anymore- I certainly don't have the spark for it.

Still, I fashion my face into some sort of grin, "Idiot," I tell him.

'Jerk' I mentally hear Eoghan reply and the old pang of sadness squeezes my chest.

Rordan, however, says, "Yeah, you told me that a few times today already."


	113. Chapter 113

As soon as I see them light the black costumes and their chariot pulls out of the training centre I know I am seeing something more than the usual Opening Ceremony costume designed by an average designer.

It is not just the way the flames capture the attention of the raptured crowds, it's not just the way the warm light flickers around their faces, turning them into ethereal creatures- it is much more than that. This is not a fashion statement, it is a political one. A year ago today Vulcan Janes emerged from the Curia engulfed in flames. What better way to remind people of this than show two tributes burning in the Opening Ceremonies? They have captured the moment when hope for the Districts went up in flames.

The designer must be very brave or very stupid or maybe both. It is dangerous to show this sort of defiance. It is as if the designer is asking to be punished. I wonder how many people realise the connection. It may still feel fresh in my mind but things move so quickly in the Capitol that events can be forgotten overnight- replaced instead with the latest think of freedom in the Districts when Emmi Careaux has released a new handbag?

I search the crowded room; it takes me a moment but as soon as I spot him I know it has to be him. Dressed all in black he doesn't stand out in the same way most Capitol citizens do but I recognise him straight away. He is the man I met in Plato's, and the man with the placard outside the Control Room. For so many years now he has been stood in my peripherals but now our two paths finally collide.

It probably isn't wise to just go up to him but I no longer work for the Praetorians so I should have nothing to fear. There are no rules about mentors talking to designers. As I approach he is talking to the other District 12 designer but their conversation is cut short as soon as I get into range.

"Interesting design," I tell them.

"Yeah, I really wanted to make a big impact," he says.

Luckily no one is paying us much attention, the other mentors and stylists are too engaged in their own thing. We won't be able to talk for long, when the tributes are back we will both have jobs to do but the Opening ceremonies should go on a bit longer- long enough for me to ask a few questions anyway.

"I could show you how it works, if you wanted," he suddenly says. There is a slight twinkle to his eye and I get the impression that maybe he wants to talk to me just as much as I want to talk to him. We have been running parallel to each other for too long. He must have noticed it too.

"Yeah, sure," I tell him and I allow him to lead me out of the room with all the chariots and mentors and designers and up into a small storage room where a pile of black material is draped over a box alongside a neat row of fire extinguishers.

"Are you mad?" I ask him as soon as the door closes behind us.

He just laughs. "No more than anyone else."

"How have you avoided being arrested? Surely people must have noticed. The Vulcan Janes- last year, right? That's what it's meant to be? But Snow…?"

He shrugs, "I guess Snow has had bigger fish to fry," he eyes me significantly. I am that fish and I have been well and truly fried this past year.

"But the flames… they won't change anything, they just put you at risk. It's not worth it."

"People in the Capitol might have forgotten all about Vulcan Janes but the Districts haven't. I wanted to give them some hope."

He sounds just like Rordan- still full of hopes and dreams and impossible endings where we can all be happy and live in peace. It is nothing but a fairy-tale, though. I don't see how anyone can still believe in it. Especially considering I don't think there is a person alive today who had not faced Snow's wrath in one form or another, directly or indirectly. Believing in that sort of thing just puts you on a fast-track for your own death.

"That and I wanted to make a tribute to Pyros." He adds.

"Who?" I have never heard that name before, although I feel as though I should have.

"He is the man who was arrested and killed for starting the fire in the Curia. He had got on the wrong side of Snow so he seemed a perfect scapegoat to blame- he was a Praetorian too and a friend. He didn't deserve what happened to him."

I can hear the sadness in his voice but I try not to think about it. I don't want to feel it. I'd rather not feel anything.

"You're still working for the Praetorians?" I ask him although I know he must be. This is probably just another one of their plans. They are probably setting up everyone for the next round of manipulations and lies. They don't care about what happened to Loman, he was just fodder for their cause.

"It is better to work as an organised group than alone."

"All they ever organise is misery. Is this part of one of their plans?"

"What you-" he begins but he is interrupted by the storeroom door opening. I thought it might be the other designer, come to tell her partner that it is time to go back downstairs but it's not. It's Plutarch.

"Excuse me… I had better get going…" I say, trying to push by Cinna (I think that's what he said his name was) but Plutarch's large form blocks the doorway.

"I had better be heading back," Cinna says and Plutarch allows him to pass. Clearly it is only me that he wants to speak to. I try to follow Cinna but Plutarch stretches his arm across the doorway and there is nothing I can do to get by short of breaking it.

"What's wrong with your phone?" he asks me.

"Nothing."

"Well I tried to contact you- several times… it was almost as if it had been disconnected."

"Yeah, as I said, nothing wrong with it." That's just what I wanted to happen.

"I thought I would be able to rely on you to-"

"Yeah, well, you can't. I'm not interested anymore. I've had enough. Nothing is ever changing. You are just as bad as they are."

There is an awkward pause and I see his arm droop slightly but he doesn't lower it. A hundred thoughts are probably rushing through his mind as he tries to calculate the exact right way to get me to work for him again. Little does he know that there is absolutely nothing he can say to convince me. My mind is completely and utterly made up.

"Aren't you even the least bit curious about why Snow let you go?"

Yes. Yes I am. I have wondered about it for so long- the question has gnawed at me, stopped me from sleeping, slipped into my head when my thoughts were otherwise empty. I just don't really want him to know that. He has clearly prepared this- lined it up as part of his arsenal to make me come back.

"I suppose you are going to tell me- try to make yourself look good. Thanks for getting me out but it's not like I owe you anything."

"Actually it wasn't us who got you out."

That I wasn't expecting. For a split second I let curiosity get the better of me. "What do you mean?"

"It was Alba. She found out where you were- took pictures of you- threatened to have them circulated all over Panem. She ran off hundreds of copies through the underground press."

He takes out a photograph. The grim prison stands behind me and I clearly look as though I am in pain as two guards lead me back into the building. It is strange seeing myself like that. I look like myself and yet I don't. Something about my face looks wrong. I'm surprised more people didn't notice it.

"Snow had no choice but to release you or face public inquisition. Looks like you have a real friend there."

I don't know why she did it. I haven't even seen her in over a year. All we had were a few staged conversations, news stories printed as though they are truth. There is no reason why shwould have helped me but I guess, in many ways, she is the only person who could have. Who else would have been able to get away with threatening Snow? He may manipulate her and use her in his strange schemes but deep down he still loves her. Just like Snow uses the people we love to control us Alba found a way to control her grandfather.

Plutarch clicks his tongue, searching my face for something, "We were hoping that-"

"I told you, I'm done."

"It's different now," he tells me, "We have new allies. We have hope, a way of-"

"I told you, I'm not interested. You can't force me to do this."

I say it but that doesn't necessarily mean it is true. We both know how he could make me do it I just hope he doesn't sink so low as to do it.

He looks at me, studies me a second but drops his arm. "We will keep in touch," he says, "But you had better get back. The Ceremony will be ending soon."

I nod, unable to bring myself to say anymore and I stumble back down the stairs and get back to Paddy's side as the chariots begin to return.

"I heard you had a habit of disappearing but I didn't realise it was this often. At this rate I will have to buy a lead." He chuckles to himself.

"Sorry, just had a few things to sort out."

Rordan and Pearl jump down from the chariot and, grinning- flushed with the intense rush of facing the crowds, they follow us to the elevators.

"I've just- I've never seen anything like it! There were so many of them!" Rordan says, his eyes impossibly wide. "And it was like they knew who we were."

Pearl rolls her eyes, "They were more interested in watching the two from Twelve. We should have got flames on our costumes."

The doors pinged open and I led the group through to the table where a starter had already been set out for us. Paddy and Pearl quickly take their seats but Rordan holds back a moment.

"Rordan what-" but then I see where he is looking; straight at the two avoxes who stand holding jugs at either end of the table. He stares at them and they stare at him. I may have never met them before but I am under no allusion about who they are.

I grab Rordan by the arm, "Come on, you need to eat- build up your strength."

He swallows loudly but doesn't speak. I direct him into a chair while Paddy gives me a quizzical look.

"Well, the pair of you have made a good first impression. The important thing now is to establish how you are going to present yourself for the rest of the Games," I say, trying to cover the agonising silence.

Rordan mustn't say anything; he mustn't acknowledge the truth at all. We must all continue as this is completely normal. It would be treason to think otherwise and I know Snow has his eye on us. After last year he will be watching every second of every day.

The Avoxes- Rordan's parents- pour out drinks. I see Rordan shiver as his mother's sleeve brushes his arm but he forces himself to face forward, forces his face into a painfully neutral expression- except his eyes- the panic still shows there.

It must be awful to have them so close and yet so far.

Luckily Paddy keeps up a conversation and Rordan manages to muddle through although he skips dessert and rushes off to his room as soon as he can, throwing his napkin onto the floor.

His dad stoops to pick it up and I notice him tuck it into his belt, as if he is planning to keep it for later. His eyes have the same pained expression as his son.


	114. Chapter 114

I should probably leave him alone. He probably doesn't want to talk to anyone, I don't want to talk to him about it because I don't know what to say but I feel I at least have to make sure he is alright. That's what people do, isn't it- to show they care? I'm meant to be looking after him.

As I approach his room the door swings open and his father slips out. Our eyes meet for a second before he lowers his head, scurrying off to wherever it is they go. I consider trying to stop him but there is nothing I can say to comfort him so I go onwards.

Rordan is sat at the dressing table in his room, trying to wipe off the thick make-up they pasted on his face for the opening ceremonies. There is so much of it that I am surprised his parents could recognise him so easily.

"Rordan-"

As he turns towards me I notice a piece of paper wedged under his elbow. It looks like an envelope. I suppose that's what his father was doing in his room. After all, they don't have any other way of communicating with him.

"Are you alright?" I ask him, the question just trips off my tongue without me meaning to ask it. I don't want to know. Not really.

He shrugs. "I expected something like this." He throws one of the used tissues down onto the table. It is covered in green make-up. He pulls out another one and begins attacking the skin around his eyes which, I notice, is already smudged.

"Yeah, well-"

"I just have to win, don't I? At least then I can see them again. And when-" but he stops when I give a pointed look towards the door. They are definitely listening to us this year- I am sure of it. "Maybe I'll be able to buy their freedom." He adds.

"Yeah, maybe…"

Most of the green is now gone from his face but patches of it cling in the creases around the bottom of his nose and he missed a couple of places on his chin.

"What exactly were you meant to be anyway? I couldn't make it out."

"Dunno. Seaweed probably. Doesn't matter. Everyone was looking at twelve. Well, at least Pearl thought so."

"You'll just have to make sure you impress in training tomorrow then."

He nods. "Sure."

I hover there for a moment before I realise he has finished talking. He looks at me and glances towards the door. "I think I'll probably take a shower…" he says. I get the impression it is less about trying to get the rest of the green off his skin and more about being alone. Well that's fine by me. Let him be alone.

As I leave his room I instinctively look at my phone. As expected I have a message. I wish I had some of that green paint; I could do with a mask to hide behind tonight.

* * *

><p>I'm glad he turned the light off. A tap drips in the next room. I bite down on one of the pillows. I'm unable to stop my eyes from filling with tears but I don't cry.<p>

* * *

><p>"We should wake him up, he'll be late otherwise," Paddy says, glancing at the door for what seems the hundredth time.<p>

I check my watch; it's only two minutes to ten. "I'll go check on him. You make sure Pearl gets to the gymnasium"

"Right-o"

I down what is left of my coffee but it's not enough to revive me. Two avoxes- different ones- not Rordan's parents- begin to clear away the table. I guess they realised how inappropriate it is to have them here or maybe they know about the note they passed Rordan either way someone thought it best to change them.

I don't have time to think about it, though, as I drag my carcass down the hallway and knock on Rordan's door.

"Rordan!" I call to him. Maybe he didn't set his alarm. Maybe he didn't realise that he is needed at training for ten. No reply. I push open the door and glance round the room. The bed is empty; the stool by the dressing table is unoccupied. He isn't by the window or the wardrobe… if he is still here he must be in the bathroom.

I take a couple of strides across the room before I hesitate. What if he has done something stupid? What if open that door and find him floating face-down in the bath tub or hanging from the shower rail? He seemed alright last night but what if there was something that I missed? What if seeing his parents was too much?

"Rordan?" I say, a little quieter this time, as though my voice might disturb the dead.

I tiptoe to the bathroom door and tentatively peer round the frame... He is stood by the sink brushing his teeth.

"Why didn't you come to breakfast?" I ask. And then he turns… it's not Rordan. "Who are you?"

"That doesn't matter."

"I think you'll find it does…." I don't know what to say. Rordan has vanished- suddenly replaced by an imposter.

He places his toothbrush inside the cabinet which sits behind a mirror and turns on the hot tap, letting the boiling water steam up the room.

"God, I know I'm not wearing the make-up any more but I would have hoped my own mentor would recognise me," he says but as he talks he begins to write a message into the fogged up glass on the mirror.

'Rordan and his parents are safe. The Praetorians have taken them somewhere. I am Rordan's replacement. You must pretend I am him.' He has to keep rubbing away his message and waiting for the glass to fog up again before he continues but finally I begin to understand.

I force myself to laugh as if enjoying some joke. "Don't worry, everyone is sure to recognise you soon." I say, trying to keep my voice calm while my eyes bulge. They are going to notice. There is no way they are going to get away with this. The two are similar but nowhere near identical.

'They only saw me at the reaping and while wearing make-up, if everyone plays along this can work…'

"I'm going to make sure they pay attention." He says aloud. I catch the faintest hint of a Capitol accent beneath his false District four lilt. Does that mean a teenager from the Capitol is going to compete in the Hunger Games? I can't even begin to comprehend this so I don't even try. What kind of teenager from the Capitol would volunteer for the Games?

"What about Pearl?"

"I guess I won't mind if they notice her as well but she'll need to play along for it to work."

This is never going to work. "Well you better get down to training. Don't want the Gamemakers to think you are lazy."

As always in situations like this I am left with no time to think at all. I don't know how this is going to work.

"I'm not feeling great- all this rich food has messed with my stomach. Maybe I'll go down to training after lunch. Maybe warn Pearl to stay away from the pork?"

He scoops up some of the water into his palm and begins to gargle it, then he finally switches off the tap, bows down, clutching at the toilet with a groan.

"I think it would be best if you left."

I know what he wants me to do- I have to tell Pearl not to give him away. This upset stomach game is just to buy him more time. At some point I am going to have to explain to Paddy as well. Somehow, without meaning to, I have stumbled into another Praetorian plot and I have no choice but to be involved. I bet this is all Plutarch's idea. This is exactly the sort of thing he would do. He would find this so amusing after I told him I want to have no part in any of this. I don't know why the Praetorians want to help Rordan and his family, I guess it doesn't matter, but I hope it really is helping them.

* * *

><p>As the other tributes begin eating their lunch I pull Pearl aside, "I need to discuss some training strategy with you," I say as I half guide, half drag her out of the hall and through the hallways of the training centre, right up to the rooftop. "I thought we would be less likely to be overhead up here," I tell her.<p>

"I'm glad we're going to discuss this because-" she begins in a business-like tone but I have no choice but to cut her off.

"I need to talk to you about Rordan," I tell her firmly.

"Is he alright?" she says, showing little actual concern.

"I need to tell you something. It relies on you being able to keep a secret because if you don't then all of us will be in danger. Do you understand? If they catch us they will imprison us, torture us- if you don't die in the arena you will face that fate as well, do you understand?"

I watch as he eyes grow wider but she nods mutely to show she has understood.

"Rordan has been replaced."

"What do you mean?"

"Someone else has taken his place- I don't know why- but it is important that we act as though nothing has changed. Do you understand?"

She nods again.

"Everything relies on this. We will not be able to discuss it again- they are listening everywhere. You must do all you can to keep his real identity a secret. You must also not say a thing about the change in avoxes. Do you understand?"

Another nod.

"Good."

"But I want you to be my mentor," she blurts it out suddenly. "You have more experience than Paddy. I want to be sure I win."

I don't want to point out that if Plutarch is involved in this plan then the winner is probably already chosen and it will be the new Rordan. There is no way that they would just sacrifice a teenager from the Capitol- especially not one who is working for them.

"Alright, you have a deal. I'll do my best, although I don't think I'll be much use to you."

She doesn't ask about why this is happening. She doesn't ask about the bigger picture at all. As we walk back down to the gymnasium she grills me on strategy- what I would do if cornered by three other tributes, what I would do if I ran out of food, how I would keep myself warm, the best way to purify water… she has no interest in the plot at all, her mind is completely and utterly focused on the Games. If it was any other year she would probably win.

Outside the gymnasium the new Rordan catches up with us.

"Feeling better?" I ask him.

"Much," he nods.

Pearl doesn't even bat an eyelid, doesn't let her eyes linger over him for too long, doesn't acknowledge the strange accent- she would make the perfect conspirator, either that or she simply really isn't interested in the slightest.

I linger outside as they join the others. I wait for someone to sound the alarm, for someone to point out that he isn't Rordan- that he is taller, better fed, that he has no freckles from being out in the sun…. I wonder if he has ever been trained before. Does he really know what he has volunteered for?

I wait to hear it but it doesn't come. No one notices. I guess, like Pearl, they are all too busy thinking about themselves and what they are going to do to even notice. I suppose I should be grateful.

I climb up the stairs and sit in the gallery for a bit, I can't help but let my eyes wander over to Plutarch who sits watching with the other Gamemakers. Throughout the session his eyes glide over Rordan as if he isn't there at all. It is as if he is scared to look at him too closely in case it gives it all away. That proves it- this is another one of his plans and somehow, against my will, he has forced me to be involved.


	115. Chapter 115

Somehow no one noticed.

It still doesn't stop me from being on edge the whole time. As the four of us huddle around the television to see the training scores of this year's tributes I find myself glancing at the replacement. I hope he has done well- Rordan- the real Rordan- would have done. I really have no idea how the gamemakers have scored him. When I watched him in training I couldn't really work out if he could fight. He handled the weapons as though he knew what he was doing, yet he had no drive and his movements generally seemed weak.

"We need to get at least an eight, right?" Pearl asks, turning to look at me over her shoulder.

"That's the plan," I tell her.

The anthem plays and the pictures begin to flash across the screen. District one first, both their tributes look like the typical District One competitors- more glamour than substance. District two and three are equally uninspiring

When Pearl's face appears on screen she balls her hands up into fists and gives me a tight smile. Quickly an eight appears. She relaxes but the smile drops. I can tell she had hoped for more.

I give her a nod. It is respectable even if it won't compete with some of the other scores we have already seen.

I turn back to the television. For a second I'm afraid that the picture on the screen will be of the real Rordan and someone will realise about the switch but they must have taken the pictures during the training period because they of the imposter. He also gets an eight. The true Rordan would have done better but at least the replacement isn't going to be a complete embarrassment.

The replacement sits up a little taller and, unlike Pearl, I get the impression he expected to get a much lower score. I guess he isn't as confident as he makes himslef out to be.

"Well done, you two," Paddy says, raising his glass to them.

We chatter over the rest of the scores, only vaguely taking them in- it isn't good for the nerves to focus too much on the scores. After all, a low score doesn't necessarily mean they won't win. Johanna only got a three. They are just a guidline for sposors. However, there is one score that we can't fail to all take note of. An Eleven! And it is awarded to the girl from District 12.

Now that I think about it I should have paid her more attention from the start. After all, she volunteered for the Games- something you never see from one of the outlying districts. Then there is the burning outfit from the opening ceremonies. Never mind the ruthless killers from District 2, or the large guy from District 11 or the crafty looking girl from District 5 this tribute is the one to watch.

The four of us fall silent. Pearl is looking pale. The imposter looks unsure of something.

Paddy quietly turns off the television. "They're just trying to make it interesting. She's probably only worth a seven."

I don't know what that girl did in the training room but it must have been good. It's almost a shame; after all, I'm pretty sure the imposter is going to win. That's Plutarch's plan, anyway. Not even the girl from twelve is going to put an end to that.

The only thing that could have stepped in his way is of he had been found out and no one has noticed. It is starting to look as though we might actually get away with this and then I realise that he has to be interviewed. How are we going to convince an audience that this boy grew up in District Four? And how are we going to disguise that Capitol accent? I glance over at Paddy who is chuckling to himself as he pours another glass of wine. It bet he hasn't even thought about how complicated this is going to be.

As I'm Pearl's mentor she is going to expect me to be with her all of tomorrow, thinking of an angle and giving her tips on how to present herself during the interview. I will probably have no time with the imposter. But we need to figure this out. I can't just leave this like we left the training and hope it is going to be ok. This is definitely the most dangerous part of the plan. I need to speak to the imposter and I need to do it in a way which won't make Paddy and Pearl feels as though I am sticking my nose where it's not meant to be.

"So what's the plan for tomorrow?" Paddy asks.

"We need to prepare for the interview," I tell him.

"Oh right…" he looks at the imposter, "I think we are going to need a lot of preparing."

"Well I'm pretty sure I know what I'm doing," Pearl says, flicking her hair over her shoulder.

"Yeah, "I tell her, "I bet you have an angle all picked out."

"Sweet, witty and charismatic."

"Sweet? Witty? Good luck with that," the imposter snorts.

"I can be sweet," she insists.

"Yeah… sure…"

"Well what are you going for? Obnoxious and rude, rich boy?"

"It's going to need a bit of thought," Paddy says, "Do you know any jokes?"

"The problem isn't really in finding an angle," I remind them, I almost say more but then I remember they are listening.

Paddy raises his eyebrows, probably realising for the first time what I am actually getting at. Sometimes it feels as if I am the only one that is actually up to speed with what's going on.

"Don't worry, I've got it all planned out," the imposter says.

"Well then I'd like to see it," Paddy says.

"Can't it wait until tomorrow?" Pearl rolls her eyes, flicking her hair over her shoulder for what feels like the hundredth time tonight.

"No, I think we would like to see it now." I definitely need to see this. I glance at the time. I still have an hour before I have to head out for the night shift.

"I'll play Caesar," Paddy says. He gets up from his chair, brushes down his imaginary suit and elaborately sits in one of the armchairs opposite me.

Pearl huffs but comes to sit next to me so she can watch. I lean down to whisper in her ear, "I wouldn't complain, after all, since when is it a bad thing to see the competition?"

Her frown breaks into a devious grin as if I am doing something outrageously clever and I make sure my expression mirrors hers. As if this is an in-joke.

"You'd better take your seat," I say to the imposter, gesturing to the empty place next to Paddy.

"Alright…" he seems unsure but does as he is told, probably aware that all out eyes are on him- aware that he has to show us a convincing performance of someone from District 4.

Paddy, mimicking Caesars mannerisms exactly, turns towards him, "Sooo, what have you enjoyed most since you arrived in the Capitol?"

"Everything- I mean… it's just so different. The buildings, the people… the food! Everywhere I look I'm reminded just how far from home I am."

It's a passable answer. A little generic, perhaps, but there is nothing there to give the game away.

"Were you pleased with your training score?"

"Well, if I'm honest, I think I was cheated. I've not been well the last week and I wasn't performing at my best. I think now I am recovered I could probably score at least a ten and in the arena- with the adrenaline that would bump my score up to a perfect twelve. I have done a lot of training for this and I know I am ready."

A little cocky but feasible – at least it backs up why he was late for training on the first day. Whoever trained this boy at least did a thorough job.

"Now, am I right in saying that your uncle is a victor? Sorely MacBride, is that right?"

I hold my breath waiting to hear this answer- this is what could make or break this plan. There will be people out there who know all about Sorely- the enthusiasts who sit with their manuals looking up past victors- compiling statistics, gathering information on their lives. They relish moments like this- opportunities to see part of the victor face the arena again. It's a great pull for the bookies.

"That's right," the imposter says.

"Did he give you any advice before you came here?"

"He told me to do him proud."

It doesn't really sound like Sorely- he never speaks of things like pride and he wouldn't ever expect Rordan to uphold some family tradition or anything like that, he would just want him to be safe and happy. I hope he is too.

"Did he help with your training?"

"Yes. Taught me everything he knows. That's how I know I'm ready. If you are trained by the best your whole life you have no other option that to be the best."

I cringe and I see Paddy do the same. Sorely has never picked up a single weapon since the Games. He is not proud of what he did. He is very humble and quiet and reserved when it comes to his victory. I have never really even heard him talk about it. The question is- is it alright to lie about these things? How much do they know about the real Rordan? How much can he say before alarms start sounding and they realise that something is wrong?

I turn to Paddy, "What do you think?"

"Well I think he's got his angle."

"Yeah. I guess the lying is alright as long as it gets the sponsors interested." If only there is something we could do about that fake accent…. It is hideous.

I suppose so many of the tributes are pretending to be someone else so they can seem more confident, more desirable, more deadly that no one is going to notice one tribute who is pretending to be someone else entirely.

* * *

><p>Squeezed between Haymitch and Johanna I watch the interviews. Everyone has recycled the same old tactics that have been used a thousand times before. Surely, after seventy-four years, the audiences are getting bored of the same old formula?<p>

When Pearl has her turn she tries very hard to be sweet and witty and charismatic but mostly comes across self-involved and overbearing but I didn't really expect anything else, no matter what I told her in the training room she continued to act the same way.

The imposter has some of the same questions that Paddy asked- were you pleased with your training score, what does your uncle think of you competing in the Games, why did you volunteer, what tactics do you plan on using? Like Pearl, he responds in the exact same way as he did in training- generic and confident. At least he won't stand out as something unusual. As he speaks I look down the line of mentors but none of them even raise an eyebrow at his accent. Maybe it isn't as bad as I thought or maybe people outside District 4 aren't used to hearing it enough to recognise when it is fake.

My seat begins to feel uncomfortable as I yawn through the rest of the interviews. I am pleased when we reach District 12- simply because I know the whole thing is going to be over soon.

The girl is fine. The crowd is on her side- probably intrigued by her outfit and her unusual training score. She twirls around the stage, makes a couple of jokes, drops hints about her score and shares a nice piece about her sister. There is nothing particularly of note, however. I have seen better interviews, anyway.

While the boy from District 12 speaks, I slip my coat back on. He is a good speaker- better at the jokes- again generally fine- nothing to write home about. Caesar asks his staple question about whether he has a girl waiting for him back home. Over the years I have heard it all- sob stories, vows to return, cheeky jokes about being available, shy replies, joke replies, but never-

"… she came here with me."

A murmur ripples across the audience. I turn to Haymitch, "Was this your idea?"

He shrugs.

As if the crowds wasn't on the side of District twelve enough the boy had to spin the whole thing out of proportion and knock every other tribute out of the water. This is something original.

I watch him for the rest of the interview. He doesn't look like anything special and yet… and yet this idea could change everything. I know the Capitol and they are going to eat this up. I can't help but wish I had thought of it myself.


	116. Chapter 116

I see Paddy reach towards the red pill and I clamp my hand down over his. "Not yet," I hiss.

"It's practically over," he shrugs- gesturing towards the screen.

It's mid-afternoon. The tributes that are going to survive the bloodbath have either run away or are the six careers who stand sorting through the remaining supplies, looking for the choicest weapons. Both Pearl and the imposter managed to hold their own. Pearl is looking through a bundle of spears with Marvel from district 1.

Marvel holds up one of the weapons close to Pearl's face and puts on a mocking high voice, "Oooh, I think this one suits you- it matches your eyes."

Pearl screws up her face "Ew, bronze spears are so last season."

Both are covered in blood and sweat, they are searching through a pile of deadly weapons after helping to kill other teenagers and yet here they are making jokes. In a way I am glad. Little things like that are the only way to stay sane in the arena. It is so easy to be drained by the fear and adrenaline, the quiet moments- the silly moments- are vital.

The imposter sits at the edge of the group near some darts which he starts to inspect- a gleeful expression on his face. He sizes them up, inspecting the tips closely. Satisfied with what he sees, he puts the whole box into his rucksack which is already brimming with supplies. As he pulls on the zip his attention is drawn towards another pile of weapons where a sword sits, gleaming in the sunlight. Judging by what we have seen so far it could be the only sword in the whole arena.

Simultaneously both the imposter and Cato from district 2 launch themselves across to the pile of weapons, reaching frantically for the sword. The imposter gets there a fraction faster and snatches it out of Cato's way.

"We should divide up the weapons equally," Cato says. Personally I don't see what difference it will make, the imposter may have the darts but I have already seen Cato stuff a dagger and a hatchet into his pack.

"'Atta boy, Cato," I hear Brutus say from somewhere on the other side of the room, he is obviously more impressed with this statement.

"Actually, I think the rule is 'finder's keepers'" the imposter says snootily, seemingly not even trying to hide his accent.

"Atta boy, Rordan," Paddy says, loud enough for Brutus to hear.

"Watch it, District 4" Brutus says.

"We are watching it," I reply, "And it's not looking good for you."

Paddy slaps me appreciatively on the back and the pair of us turn back to the screen.

Cato narrows his eyes. For a moment I think he is going to strike the imposter down there and then but for some reason he holds back. Maybe he thinks it is too early to break the alliance or maybe he just doesn't fancy his chances.

"Fine," he sneers, picking up another dagger.

"Not like you had much choice," the imposter tells him.

One thing is obvious; the imposter knows who is in charge. I suppose when you have lived in the Capitol your whole life and been told you are better than the people who live in the Districts you are probably going to beleive it. What I don't understand is why the others accept it so easily. Maybe sometimes being louder than everyone else is enough to fool everyone into thinking you are the leader.

"See, it's all over" Paddy says to me, "The hovercraft will be here soon."

But I glance at the map where a red light lingers just on the outskirts of the clearing. Whoever that is obviously has some sort of plan to do with the careers. Friend or foe it doesn't matter but this thing most certainly isn't over.

The red light stays still for a while. I imagine the tribute is probably watching the career pack, waiting for them to gradually let their guard down. I look up at the main screens, trying to figure out which of the tributes it is but nothing stands out. All of them are stood in groups of trees or in the grass- most of the arena seems to look the same.

When the red light finally starts to move I play with the camera angles on my screen, trying to work out which direction the tribute might be coming from but it is only when he is within twenty paces of them that I locate him. It is the boy from District 12- Peeta Mellark- so my programme informed me last night. I knew I needed to keep an eye on him.

He walks towards the cornucopia with his hands held in the air- surrendering to the careers. What is wrong with him? Has he got some sort of death-wish?

He pauses around ten paces from them, his hands still held in the air showing that he is without a weapon. "I want to talk to you," he says. I get the impression that he might have rehearsed what he wanted to say- his voice doesn't falter once.

"Oh yeah?" Cato smirks at his partner. Fresh meat. Easy meat. A tribute without a weapon- it is almost too easy.

"I want to join you." He starts measuredly walking towards the cornucopia. If he is afraid he doesn't show it. He squints in the sunlight but still keeps his eyes firmly focused on the group.

"What about your little girlfriend?" Pearl snorts.

"Not interested in an alliance," he looks down- just for a moment- and I notice how he draws in a deep breath for strength. He knows this isn't going to be easy- whatever it is that he has got planned.

"And why would we want you in our pack?"

"I'm strong. I got an eight in training so you know I'm not useless. Surely it is better to have me on your side than have me against you?" As he talks he continues to move closer until he walks among the group- only a few metres from any one of them. Not only does this boy know how to make an impression with the Capitol but he is also very brave. I hope his bravery doesn't cost him too dearly.

The careers look at each other, mulling it over. The girl from District two- Clove- leans in to her district partner, "Maybe he'll help us find her." It is probably too quiet for the others to hear but the microphone system easily picks it up and it comes through the speakers as clear as a bell. I'm guessing the 'her' she refers to is the girl from District 12; I guess they were pretty annoyed about her training score.

As they think it over. Peeta continues to move towards the supplies. All of them watch him closely, waiting for him to draw a weapon so they can attack. Hyenas ready for the kill. But until he makes his move none of them will make one either. He stands in the middle of the group; if they refuse to let him join now then he is dead. Maybe this plan isn't as well thought out as it should have been. Maybe he really does have a death- wish.

As the imposter inches towards Peeta he clutches his sword tightly. I see his grasp twitch as he looks Peeta up and down. I should have known he would be thirsty for the fight. No other kind of Capitol teenager would volunteer for the arena. This probably is all just a big game to him. He saw the celebrations and the fame and the fortune as he grew up and he wanted a piece of the action. How could he ever know just how bad it really is? He is desensitised to it. He has never had to watch a friend die or fear the reaping.

"So? What do you reckon?" As he says it, Peeta picks up a knife and tests it in his grasp- slow, thoughtful...

Before he even has a chance to look up from the weapon the imposter is upon him. Peeta dodges out the way but the sword clips his calf and he stumbles to the ground. The imposter kneels on top of him, holding his sword to his throat.

"And why would we want to team up with you when we can just get you out our way?"

"If you just listen to me…" Peeta begins but the imposter hits him across the face.

"Shut up!" he snaps. You can hear his fist smacking against the bones in Peeta's face.

Peeta tries to raise his arm, which is still holding the knife, but the imposter holds his sword to it, cutting through the skin with its sharp edge. Peeta gasps in pain but manages to wrench the imposter's arm away. The exertion makes his face turn bright red, as he is caught in the wrestling match. For a while the two are caught in a bind, both fighting for dominance, neither able to raise his weapon enough to strike. Finally the imposter manages to break free and makes a slash at Peeta's face but Peeta wiggles out the way, throwing the imposter off him at the last moment.

The other careers stand back and watch. Pearl steps forward as if to help but Cato signals for her to stop, so she does.

As the imposter tries to sit up, he reaches for Peeta's clothes, trying to pull him towards him but Peeta's arm darts out and he stabs the imposter's stomach with the knife. The imposter crumples and his sword falls from his hand as the agony sinks in.

With his face screwed up in disgust, Peeta strikes again. He looks repulsed as blood splatters across his face but while the imposter keeps reaching towards him he has no choice but to continue driving the knife into his flesh. When the imposter finally lies still Peeta backs away, shoving the knife firmly into his belt.

He looks from one career to the other, struggling for breath, "So… am I in?"

Cato crosses over the imposter's body and picks up the sword that is lying bloodied on the floor next to him. "Sure, why not?"

Brutus lets out a triumphant bark of laughter.

I turn to Paddy, "What did I tell you?"

"Pah!" he says pushing the cup with the two red pills aside, "I was looking forward to the party as well. Guess I'll see you later."

His chair scrapes as he pulls it out and he throws down his headphones before going and I am left alone at my station.

I guess it takes a while for the imposter's death to sink in because I only really start to think of the implications long after the careers have left the cornucopia and the canons start to fire.

The thing is, if the imposter is dead that can either mean two things; either he did not have Plutarch's protection in the arena or Plutarch messed up somehow. I find it hard to believe that someone in his position would volunteer for the games without having some security behind them but I don't think there is much Plutarch could have done to help in that situation.

The way the imposter behaved in the arena didn't feel like the actions of someone who had been properly trained for the job. The attack on Peeta seemed completely unnecessary. Why jump into a fight like that? It just doesn't make sense. It is as if he became completely overwhelmed by the situation- blinded by bloodlust and stamina and temporary victory- he thought he was in charge but now he is dead.

At least no one found out about the switch. At least I won't be locked up in prsion again. At least the real Rordan is probably still alive.

I reach down and take the two red pills out of the cup. I wash them down with water and turn back to the screen.


	117. Chapter 117

The door to the control room bursts open and I immediately know it is the men in black suits that have come to haul me back to my prison. They probably collected the body and realised the mistake. They could have tested his DNA, they could have compared him to old photographs, maybe Sorely spoke to them about it. I expected, two men stand by the door, their arms folded across their chests as they survey the room, looking for me, no doubt.

"Is there something we can help you with?" Cecelia asks, moving across to them.

"We're fine, go back to your post," one of them says blankly.

It is so unusual for anyone who isn't a mentor to step inside our control room that it immediacy has everyone's attention. No one is able to focus on their job- everyone probably thinks they are here to get them. After all, we are all the hunted these days. Since they killed Loman why couldn't any other victor also be fair game? What is to stop them getting rid of us all, one way or another?

"Are you sure you're in the right place?" Wiress asks them. "Only mentors can usually-"

"That is none of your concern," the other suit says.

The hairs on the back of my neck all stand on end and a shiver runs down my spine. I try to stay focused on the screen, I try to just think about Pearl- what I have to do to make sure she survives but I can't. I am too busy worrying about my own survival. My heart is beating so fast that I am sure my chest is going to explode. They are going to take me away again, I know it.

Cecelia glances back to the main screen and swears under her breath as she realises her tribute is lighting a fire in the darkness. It is such an innocent gesture- who wouldn't want to ignite some hope- if only that sort of thing isn't a sure way to get you killed.

I can feel them watching me. They are waiting for me to slip up. They are waiting for me to give it all away. For some reason I can't get my shoulders to relax, I am hunched over like an old man but when I try to sit up straight my shoulders are up by my ears and I can't figure out how to lower them.

Pearl and the other careers start to run through the forest, following the distant glow of a fire which shines like a beacon. It is yelling 'Here I am! Come and kill me now!"

Never mind the girl from District 8; I have lit my own beacon. My nerves are shredded. They are going to see my guilt even before they ask me a single question. It isn't supposed to be like this. I am meant to be staying safe this year, I am meant to get out of here as soon as I can and get home to be with Annie and Mags. It is meant to be so easy…

I grab hold of my pen, but as I try to flick down the top I fumble it and it drops noisily to the floor. I don't dare to bend down to pick it up again. I haven't heard the door so they must still be there- watching, waiting. Are they going to arrest me here- in front of everyone?

I glance behind me- no change.

The careers are close to the fire now. Soon the tribute from 8 will be dead. Pearl runs in the middle of the pack while Peeta hobbles a few paces behind, limping slightly where the imposter cut him.

Footsteps approach, heavy on the cold metal floor. "Mr Odair?"

I jump and finally the careers and the girl from 8 appear on the same screen. "Can I help you?"

"Could you step outside for a moment?"

"Actually I am kind of busy right now…." I gesture towards the screen as Marvel- the boy from 1 steps towards the fire.

"It won't take long." The other says, joining his colleague behind me.

"Alright," I say, glancing back at the screen. Pearl better not do anything stupid until I get back.

I follow the two men outside but I don't go any further than the other side of the door. That way, with any luck, the others will hear what is going on and will be able to help if need be. If only Paddy was still around, or Johanna… I could do with someone on my side.

"It has come to our attention that some unauthorised activity has taken place on your floor of the training centre…"

This is it- I'm busted- I'm never going to see Annie or Mags ever again…

"We were wondering if you had any information on these two." One of the suits holds up a pair of photographs. I instantly recognise them as Rordan's parents.

"I don't even know who they are," I lie. Lies are all I have left now. I paint a flirty smile on my face, hoping it will distract them.

"You don't recognise them?"

"Should I?"

"They are the avoxes who were assigned to your floor."

"Never seen them before in my life. We had different ones- a tall guy and a freckled girl… younger than those."

I can feel their eyes boring into me. They don't believe me. Now they are going to ask about Rordan and then it will all be over. I will run out of things to say. They will look beyond my empty smile and see the truth. This wasn't even my idea. I didn't even plan this.

"How certain are you that you never saw either of these two?" he shakes the picture as if to emphasise his point, as if waving them about will somehow jog my memory.

"Absolutely certain" I say, as steadily as I can "… not that I am in the habit of paying attention to avoxes," I quickly add. Best not to seem too interested.

"Alright. Thank you. That will be all. You may return to your duties."

I stagger back into the control room, not quite sure how I managed to get away with it. When I look up at the main screen the girl from 8 screams as Marvel cuts into her. I may have escaped but she isn't so lucky.

When Marvel finally steps away Pearl gives him a high-five and his district partner gives a sick sort of giggle.

"Let see if she's got anything worthwhile," Clove says, pawing at the body, ripping into her pockets but there is nothing to find other than the box of matches the girl used to start the fire with.

Peeta, unlike the others, holds back slightly, looking pale. Pearl crosses to him and jabs him hard in the ribs. "Hope it hasn't turned your stomach too much, lover boy."

"Come on," Cato says, "better clear out so they can get the body before it starts stinking."

Clove gets to her feet and the six of them are off again, stomping through the forest with absolutely no fear of getting caught. If only they knew what it is like after the arena- they would be terrified.

They stop in a clearing, looking around as if wondering where they should go next. Looking for another fire to beckon them in for the next kill.

"Shouldn't we have heard the cannon?" Glimmer suddenly says, looking over her shoulder.

"I'd say yes. Nothing to prevent them from going in immediately," Clove says matter-of-factly.

"Unless she isn't dead." Glimmer turns towards her district partner, narrowing her eyes mockingly- as if it is some great joke and she has finally caught him out.

"She's dead. I struck her myself." As if to make his point Marvel holds up his bloodied spear, pointing it towards his district partner as if he might strike her as well.

"Then where's the cannon?" Clove asks, stepping forward to take Glimmer's side.

Unable to resist joining in Pearl steps in to stand by the others. "Someone should go back. Make sure the job's done."

"Yeah, we don't want to have to track her down twice." Clove rolls her eyes and moves towards Cato, as if waiting to hear what he has to say.

"I said she's dead!"

"If he says she's dead, then she's dead," Cato says, shrugging.

"But what if she isn't- the cannon would have gone off if she is."

"I know I killed her!" Marvel shouts, ploughing past Cato towards Clove.

"Well I'm just saying…"

"Well I'm saying she's dead."

"It wouldn't hurt to look…"

And suddenly they are all talking at once, all desperate to have their views heard. They are sizing up one another, their weapons are being drawn and I begin to wonder if this is going to be one of the shortest career alliances on record when a voice cuts through all the rest of them, silencing them immediately.

"We're wasting time! I'll go finish her and let's move on!"

Of course it is Peeta. Who else would be able to stop an argument like that in its tracks? I knew it the moment I heard him at the interview. People listen to him. I don't know why or how, there is just something about him. Problem is, if I have noticed it, others will have too. No doubt Plutarch will already have him lined up for recruitment. If he makes it out the arena alive...

"Go on then, Lover boy, see for yourself." Cato says.

I know I should really be watching Pearl, making sure she is alright but I can't resist watching Peeta as he retraces his steps back to the spot where they attacked the girl from District 8.

Although I watch Peeta on the big screens my headphones stil lplaythe audio from Pearl and the other careers creating a strange mix between the two moments.

"Why don't we just kill him now and get it over with?"

The girl from District 8 lies curled up on the ground in the same place as she lay before but not in the same position. I can see from her expression that she is softly moaning as she clutches her stomach where Marvel's spear impaled her. Peeta kneels down by her side.

"Let him tag along. What's the harm? And he's handy with that knife. Besides he's our best chance of finding her"

"Why? You think she bought into that sappy romance stuff?"

His head is bowed but I see his lips slowly move- I think he tells her he is sorry, but I can't be sure. All I can hear is the low chattering of the careers and Pearl's voice standing out above all the others.

"She might have. Seemed pretty simple-minded to me. Every time I think about her spinning around in that dress I want to puke."

Drawing in a deep breath Peeta takes the knife from his belt. The girl looks at him, tears in her eyes, but there is no panic there. He hesitates a moment until the girl nods to him and closes her eyes in resolution. As softly as a father tending to his sick child, Peeta pushes the knife into the girl's chest. She clutches his hand as he removes the knife and regretfully strokes her hair. Finally he gets to his feet and hurries back to join the others. Whoever that boy is he is not a career. I don't know what he thinks he is doing by hanging around with them but surely no good can come of it. He is too kind to belong with the savage killers.

"Wish we knew how she got that eleven."

"Bet you lover boy knows."

When he returns Peeta's expression has hardened again, to match the fierce grins of his companions.

"Was she dead?" Cato asks him.

"No. But she is now." He says.

Glimmer gives Marvel another look as if to say- 'I told you so'. The sound of the cannon finally bursts the air, confirming Peeta's story.

"Ready to move on?" Peeta says. The others nod and the six of them tear off into the night looking for their next victim.


	118. Chapter 118

As the sun begins to rise the group head back to the lake where they set up camp before. I suppose they might try and get some sleep now the initial rush of the Games is over. Not that it will be easy. They might as well give the tributes the same drug they give the mentors for all the difference it makes but I guess they are worried the Games will be over too quickly. I nestle down in my chair, confident that most of the action is over for the time being. There are always natural lulls. Nobody is active all the time, not even when it is kill or be killed.

However, the group get a surprise when they reach the camp.

"Stop!" the small boy from District 3 calls to them, holding up his arms like a traffic warden. He is stood a few metres from the careers' supplies which they had tried (with minimal success) to camouflage before they headed out for the hunt.

Surprised by the suddenness of the instruction, all of the careers stop in their tracks. When they see that it came from the boy from District 3, though, they continue to advance. Cato holds his sword out ready to attack, his eyes fixed on his target.

"Stop!" the boy says again but they aren't listening. "Stop or be blown to smithereens!"

And, to my surprise, all of them- even Cato- stop again.

"What do you mean?" Clove hisses. "Get away from our supplies."

The boy from District 3 backs away, heading nearer to the supplies rather than away. He leans up against one of the boxes. "You can't come any closer," he says warily.

The career pack stay where they are but stand ready to strike. Fortunately for the boy none of them are carrying accurate long-range weapons.

"And why should we listen to you?"

"I have set up mines all around the supplies," he tells them.

Mines? I have never heard of that being a weapon supplied at the cornucopia. It is undoubtedly the perfect weapon for a brainbox from District 3, though.

"He's lying," Pearl says, bravely taking a step forwards.

"I'm not. I dug up the landmines from around the metal plates and reactivated them. Are you really going to risk being blown up?" the boy challenges her. Pearl stops.

As I look at the career pack I can see the exhaustion on their faces. After the long journey to the arena, the physical exertion of the bloodbath and a whole night of hunting for other tributes they are no longer thinking straight. All of them are dead on their feet and it shows.

"So you've just stolen our supplies?" Marvel says indignantly.

"For now," the boy tells him. The group lift their weapons. "But I am willing to make a deal," he quickly adds.

"What kind of deal?" Peeta asks him. I can't help but notice that his spear and knife are both safely tucked into his belt. Unlike the others, he has no intention of fighting.

"I'll show you the way to get the supplies- IF you promise not to hurt me- or kill me- or- or- harm me in any way- or-"

"I think we get the idea." Clove rolls her eyes.

The question is- why is he warning them? Why not let the six of them walk straight into his trap and blow them all sky-high? That would surely put him at more of an advantage than an alliance. Why is he so keen to join with the careers? It just makes no sense.

"So do you promise?"

Silence falls amongst the Careers. If they agree to the promise then it is one they cannot hope to keep. Not even their own alliance is going to stay intact until the end. Surely the boy can understand that? Surely he isn't asking for an indefinite truce. Yet, on the other hand, what choice do the careers have? Without their supplies they are useless. Most haven't been trained to find food in the arena. They will be completely reliant upon sponsor's gifts. They nervously look at one another, none of them willing to commit to the agreement first.

"It's a fair agreement," Peeta tells them, but he doesn't say any more. His vote isn't worth the breath he uses to utter it. He is only there because of his own agreement.

Pearl's eyes begin to droop; she is practically falling asleep where she stands. She doesn't even seem aware of the offer being posed to them, although somehow she keeps her weapon poised.

"Alright," Cato finally says. "I agree."

Peeta nods.

"And me."

"Me too."

"Yep."

They all turn to look at Pearl whose eyes suddenly snap open. "Yeah, sure," she says.

"But you'll have to keep watch over the supplies during the day," Cato quickly adds.

"Deal," the boy says. Cautiously he begins a very strange route across the space between the supplies and the group of careers. "You had better follow me," he says. "You must tread exactly where I do otherwise…."

If any of them even thought about betraying him that must have made them think twice. The six of them carefully mimick the boy and make their way to the centre in a long chain. When they get near to the pile Cato picks up one of the spears and shoves it into the boy's hands.

"Take this for when you are on watch…. And go easy on the food."

The boy scurries away round to the other side of the mound.

"We should try to get some sleep," Marvel says, already settling down on the grass and pulling a sleeping bag towards him.

"I'll stay on watch, "Clove says.

"When we head out later we need to take some range weapons with us," Cato says. He rummages through the weapons pile again and pulls out a bow and a quiver of arrows. "Take this," he says thrusting the bundle into Glimmer's arms.

"But I-"

"Take it," Cato says again and the look he gives her doesn't give her much option but to take what she has been given even though, I suspect, she hasn't the slightest clue about how to use the bow.

As the Careers slowly begin to drift off, I notice the boy from District Three crouching down, digging into the ground. At his side is the small circular mine, some wires still protruding from it. Once he has dug down far enough he fiddles with the mine then places it in the hole. Hidden amongst the other supplies he begins to pull out the rest of the landmines. Suddenly I get it- he didn't have them set up before- it was all an elaborate bluff. Luckily, as he works Clove also begins to drift off to sleep giving him plenty of time to finish booby-trapping the supplies, just as he had claimed to have done. No wonder he was keen to make an alliance. The careers must have come back sooner than he thought. It is impossible to detonate mines that are yet to be positioned or activated.

* * *

><p>They are getting close now. I am almost pleased to see the career pack closing in on a tribute. It has been well over twenty-four hours since the audience have seen a kill and they will be growing restless.<p>

I try to figure out who they are closing in on from the screens but, as always in this arena, it is impossible to tell.

The pack moves in a semi-circle formation and when they hear the rustling of the nearby bushes they spread out, crouching down low, ready to surprise the unexpecting tribute. They all look to Cato for the signal to advance. He begins to raise his hand to give the sign when Glimmer begins choking.

The tribute runs for it, alerted by the sound, his feet pound across the grass. The careers follow him closely, running head-first into a wall of thick black smoke. Now they are all coughing, choking, stumbling.

Looking up at the screen I see flames. They are everywhere. Only the area around lake is unaffected.

I can hear Pearl wheezing in my ears although I cannot see her.

"Quick," someone manages to choke out.

I see snippets of them running, flashes of black material through the thick smoke- panting, gasping, crying.

The career pack scatters in all directions- I see them fan out on the map and I can't tell which one of them is Pearl. I hope she is the one who is heading towards the lake. The only thing I see on the video feed is trees and smoke. I knew things were getting too quiet.

Finally she bursts through the foliage and I see her again, running as fast as she can. She falls forward onto her knees, struggling for breath and looks over her shoulder. The smoke swells and blooms but doesn't come any nearer.

Her eyes are full of tears. She vomits onto the grass, heaving up whatever supplies she has eaten today. She is weak and dazed but it looks like she has outrun it.

The boy from District 1 falls into the clearing a moment later, followed by Clove and the three of them collapse down onto the grass in one of those rare moments where it is possible to remember that these are not killing machines but teenagers.

It takes almost a whole day for the career pack to join forces again but the different groups stagger back towards their supplies and sleep off the worst of the damage. They were lucky. None of them were burnt by the flames.

They set off again in the late evening and, bored and weary they continue to wander round in search of other tributes. They find the girl from Twelve crouching in pool of water and chase her up into a tree. The six of them stand at the bottom- stumped by the seemingly simple obstacle of leaves and bark.

Cato tries to climb first but he is too heavy and Glimmer doesn't fare much better. She even tries to fire an arrow but she is as inept as I thought.

"What are we going to do? We need to get her down and fast." Marvel looks up at the sky. The twilight is fading fast and soon only torchlight will be left. They will struggle to fight her in the darkness.

"She thinks she is so smart…"

"Maybe if we just- or maybe- I have my-" but they are all just clutching at straws. None of them have the skill to get to her. And, in many ways, that is even worse than her out-scoring them in the training sessions.

"Oh, let her stay up there. It's not like she's going anywhere. We'll deal with her in the morning," Peeta says.

There is pause but no one can think of anything better to do. "If we set up camp here she'll be stuck up there."

"Glimmer- it's your turn to keep watch first. Wake up Marvel after a few hours."

The group settle down but most of them don't sleep. They pick at bits of food and drink they have bought with them. They chatter and laugh and think up new insults for the girl in the tree. Some even try to think of a plan to reach her.

"Maybe we could burn the tree down?" Marvel suggests, pulling a box of matches out of his pack and throwing it thoughtfully up in the air. "Or cut it down..."

But by the time the anthem plays the conversation has died out and it is not long after when they all have fallen asleep- including Glimmer, despite being on watch.

I can't see what the girl from Twelve is doing in that tree- I guess getting some sleep like the rest. I don't envy her being stuck up there. It can't be easy seeing her district partner with them. I guess announcing his love for her was all part of some plan to make her trust him. I don't know. Either that or he has some dumb idea about saving her.

As the sun begins to rise the quiet is broken by a branch smashing to the ground. Before I even have time to see what has happened, the whole area around base of thetree is covered in tracker jackers . The group wake instantly. Some manage to bolt- scrambling to their feet, grabbing whatever is nearby and heading off.

"To the lake! Quick!"

Pearl, a fraction behind the rest, fumbles, she tries to grab her backpack but the strap is caught under the fallen branch and in the end she has to drop it and run, surrounded by a thick swarm of wasps.

Glimmer is a few steps behind- she thrashes about, no longer rational. "Help! Come back!" she calls but Pearl, still surrounded, doesn't even turn to look over her shoulder.

Pearl runs with the others towards the lake but her leg catches on a thick root and she falls. I don't have to even hear the cannon before I know that District 4 are out of the Games for this year.


	119. Chapter 119

"Greetings to the final contestants of the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. The earlier revision has been revoked. Closer examination of the rule book has disclosed that only one winner may be allowed. Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favour."

I knew it had to be a bluff. I would have thought that everyone would have known but there is genuine horror for the two tributes from District Twelve. Whoever came up with this twist definitely knows how to spin a good story. Now we are going to have the most dramatic ending I have ever seen as the two 'lovers' try to figure out which of them is going to live and which is going to die.

"If you think about it, it's not that surprising," Peeta says. I knew he understood how this works. As soon as I heard his strategic reveal at the interviews I knew he was a lot more savvy than most of the tributes we see.

He pulls his knife out from his belt. I guess it really was all just a show for the cameras. Within a second Katniss loads her bow and points it right at Peeta's heart. Who is going to strike first?

I can't help but think of Jeannie and wonder if whoever survives will face the same persecution I did when they return home. They have spent so much time together in the arena that this is sure to hurt- and not just the one that is impaled by a weapon. Yet it is amazing what a person is willing to do to survive.

I lean in, as if being close to the screen will give me a better view. I really don't know what is going to happen next.

The doorknob rattles. I tense as I look towards the door. They have come for me. They are going to lock me away again.

My eyes dart around the room as I frantically search for a place to hide. The kitchen cupboard… the wardrobe… behind the door… no matter which I choose they will find me anyway.

"Finnick?" a woman calls from the other side of the door.

I recognise that voice…. But… several names pop into my head but none of them fit. Who is she?

"Finnick, will you let me in?"

Cautiously I go to the door and open the door a tiny amount- just enough so I can peer out into the hallway.

"Alba?"

She pushes passed me and stands in front of the television staring at the screen.

"You're not leaving me here alone." Katniss says.

"What are you-?" I begin but Alba shushes me.

I join her in front of the sofa and the pair of us stand side by side in complete silence, completely engrossed. Their weapons are discarded several paces from them but I can't tell if that is down to force or choice. Katniss is knelt at Peeta's feet, desperately trying to press the bandage back on his leg to stop the bleeding.

"Listen," he pulls Katniss to her feet. "We both know they have to have a victor. It can only be one of us. Please, take it. For me. Because without you I have nothing left. You know how I feel about you. I love you and I couldn't live if you died. And you have Prim. You need to get back to her... " he is rambling. Everything is spilling out in a hopeless jumble.

Suddenly Alba's hand in is in my own in a silence gesture which seems to say 'we are sharing this moment, and it is remarkable.'

I guess this is it, the moment when they decide which one it is going to be. I have to look away from the screen for a moment because I can no longer stand to look into Peeta's face. One thing is obvious now; his feelings for Katniss are genuine even if she doesn't feel the same way.

"No, I won't let you." I look up to see Peeta holding Katniss' wrist. I don't know what she is holding though.

"Trust me." Katniss whispers. They look into each other's eyes until Peeta's expression calms and finally he lets go of her wrist. She pushes a handful of berries into his palm. Then she gathers up about a spoonful into her own hand. They are the same berries that killed the girl from District 5. So that's what it has come to? A double suicide.

So for two years running there will be no victor. I wouldn't be surprised if Snow had all the Gamemakers executed for their inadequacy. After all, they only have one job. There have been far too many escapes.

Peeta kisses Katniss then steps back, the pair never breaking eye contact.

"On the count of three?" Katniss says, as if checking to see if he understands.

"The count of three," he confirms it.

"Hold them out. I want everyone to see." The camera zooms in on the berries and the whole of Panem must be on the edge of their seats. It is terrible but no one can turn from it. I don't know why humans are so fascinated by the macabre but even now, even after everything I watch with morbid attraction.

"One. Two…" her voice rings out across the arena, clear as a bell.

Annie is in my mind and I wonder what we would do if placed in the same position. She is so lovely. So frail. I think would have died a thousand times to save her. If it was me I would swallow all the berries myself just so I could be sure she would still be there for the next day.

No matter what happens now, whether the Gamemakers allow it or not things can only get worse. But of course neither of them know what they are standing on the cusp of. They just want to survive.

They stand back to back, united in their decision.

"Three!"

Both, without hesitation, place the berries into their mouths.

"Stop! Stop! Ladies and Gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victors of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mallark! I give you- the tributes of District Twelve."

The berries cascade from their mouths and finally I can breathe again. I finally turn to Alba and she looks at me.

"Wow," she breathily says. "Some Games, huh?"

"What are you doing here?"

"I was hoping for more of a 'thank you for getting me out of prison' actually."

"I know… I just… I thought you were the men in black suits come to hunt me down. You scared me half to death." I go towards the kitchen and flick the switch on the kettle. I think I need a warm drink after watching that. "Do you want anything?"

I pull a mug out the cupboard but when I close the door again I see that Alba is stood by the front door, putting the chain on and turning the key.

"I'm glad you're scared because you should be."

"Are they looking for me again?" I look up midway through adding the milk to my mug, no longer really paying attention to what I am doing.

"It's not just you."

"Who else? Mags? Annie?"

"All of you- all the victors. You just saw it. He was unhappy about the amount of power victors are given before but now he has been publically defied in the games I expect it will be the final straw."

"So put an end to the Games. Stop celebrating victors. Let us all live in peace- it's what we want any way."

"It won't be enough."

The milk begins to fall over the lip of the mug, puddling onto the worktop. I put down the carton and turn to her. "Why are you telling me this? If you want me to be paranoid then it is certainly working."

"I just want to help- for you to be prepared. I spoke to Plutarch about it and he thinks he can help. Whatever repercussions he is planning you are going to be a prime target. He thinks it would be best if you leave."

"Leave? Leave where? To where? Where could I possibly go to escape?"

I imagine Annie and Eoghan's father as he sailed away into the distance. Where did he end up? Did he really find somewhere safe to live or did he die looking?

"We know a safe place. We have an aircraft ready to take you if you can get to the top of the Training Centre."

I can hardly believe what I am hearing. It just doesn't sound real. A safe place? Surely there are no safe places left in Panem. And why is she so adamant about saving me. She says it is going to affect all victors so why not save Johanna or Beetee or Mags or Annie- why not Katniss and Peeta? Why save me?

"What about Mags and Annie?"

She shakes her head. "Plutarch says he is only willing to take you."

"In exchange for what?" I snort but Alba doesn't reply. If I went now I would be selling my soul to them. I would have no choice but to do what they say. Besides, I cannot live without my life. "Well I'm not going without them so you might as well save someone else. Why not scoop up Katniss and Peeta. After all, you saw what happened to Loman- they are probably being murdered right now."

Alba shakes her head. "Lightning can't strike twice."

"You know that's only a myth, right?" I have watched the storms as they cracked over the sea, sometimes lingering for some time. I have seen it in nature and I have seen it in myself. Lightning can strike a thousand times and still not be done with you.

"They need the victor tour. I know him. He will try and repair it."

"Then surely-"

"But it won't keep you safe. He had you imprisoned before and he can do it again."

"There is nothing you can say that is going to make me leave them behind. Why do you want to help me anyway? What's in this for you?"

She shrugs. "I don't want to just be a bystander. I want to be someone who makes a difference. I know I was the only person who could have got you out of the prison so it was my turn to step up and be counted. Who I am does not determine my point of view but it has given me an unfair advantage over others. I guess I want to even the score."

Guilt. It is enough to drive people, I suppose.

On the television Claudius Templesmith is recapping some of the highlights, discussing his thoughts on the Seventy-fourth Hunger Games. Our silence is punctuated with his laughter. We both stand awkwardly, unsure of what to say.

I must be mad for refusing the offer. I could be dead before morning. I could be imprisoned before the week is out.

Once again they show Katniss and Peeta holding the berries out in clear view of all the cameras. I don't know how I know but I am sure that is a moment that has changed everything. Nothing is going to be the same from now on.

"I guess, if I can't change your mind…" she edges towards the door with an elaborate shrug. She doesn't even really know what to say. What can you say to man who won't accept your help?

"I appreciate it, though," I tell her. And I do. And I know I should go but I don't have very much left and so it is all I can do to cling onto it.

She nods and closes the door silently behind her. And when she is gone there is nothing left in the flat to indicate she was there at all.

I stare at the puddle of milk on the counter and the steam rising from the boiled kettle and suddenly I am completely and utterly homesick.


	120. Chapter 120

Despite Alba's warnings when I returned to District 4 it felt as though nothing had changed at all. As the weeks and months passed, Mags continued to grow stronger- in many brilliant and small ways that somehow made all the difference. I clung to Annie like a life-raft and tried to shut out the rest of the world.

The day the Victory Tour reaches District 4 I make myself strangely absent from the proceedings. I don't want to see this year's victors and acknowledge their staged romance. I don't want to hear the genuine elation of the crowds upon seeing them. If I could I would pretend that none of it had happened and that way, maybe, I could disappear. But the noise reaches us in the Victor's Village and. as much as I try to ignore it, blocking it out is about as easy as blocking out the sudden thud of the cannon in the arena.

I move away from Mags and Annie. I wish I could vanish. I wish I could just not exist-just for today. I hope that somehow everyone outside this room could just forget about me.

It is unnerving hearing the joyous celebration float up from the town. If they are saluting Katniss and Peeta they are cheering for dissent, unrest and more danger. The more they applaud the worse it is for the rest of us. I don't want to hear it. I don't want to be a part of it. I don't want it to be true. I don't want Alba to be right.

"I need to go get some air," I don't wait for them to reply but burst out through the patio door and rush towards the uneven path that leads down to the Victor's beach.

Maybe I should have got out while I still could. Maybe I should have gone to the safe place like Alba told me to. I can't do it anymore. I am not a secret agent, I am not a warrior or a leader or even someone who knows what he is doing. I am not even sure that I am a good person. In many ways I am still that fourteen year old boy and in many ways I am not. It doesn't really matter. There is one thing that I have learnt about life and that's that no one, no matter how hard they try, gets what they want or what they deserve. Every time I think I have escaped I find myself right back in the thick of it.

The calls of the crowd echo round the cliff face as I throw myself into the water, letting the waves swallow me up, letting the roar of the sea drown out the rest of the world. The icy waters send shivers through me but I keep moving, keep ducking below and manage to keep warm.

I return late that evening. Annie and Mags turn to look at me with concern. I must look awful. They exchange glances and Annie gets to her feet. She wraps me in her arms and kisses me, glancing again at Mags, as if for reassurance.

"I'm going to go to bed." She pads down Mags' hallway and I hear the door as it hits the frame.

I turn to Mags, "What's going on?"

She pats the sofa next to her and I obediently sit. Awkwardly she puts her arm round me, forcing me to lean in to her like a small child being comforted by their mother. It is enough to pull apart the weak strands I had tried so hard to stitch together and, even without her asking me to, suddenly things begin to tumble out.

"I just don't know what to do anymore. Something is going to happen. I know it is. I'm supposed to be happy about it- this is meant to be what I wanted- unrest in the districts- someone to change things- but now I'm here I'm just scared. What if they take her away from me? I know it's selfish but I just want some happiness, even if it means everything has to stay the same. Even if it means Snow stays in power. I've seen what can happen and this isn't a Game. It's not a Game…I've tried pretending it isn't happening but it always finds me again. I just can't get away."

She holds me tightly and strokes my hair.

"I'm just sick of it all. I can't do it anymore."

She rocks me slowly, humming an old familiar tune. It is so well known to me that even though she doesn't say them the words come to me, whispered in a soft lilting lullaby from far away.

Can you see the light a'shining across the bay?

_There glows a lighthouse they say, they say _

_There to guide the ships through perilous night_

_O' Little hope, guide me tonight _

_There was a ship on these waters that sailed astray _

_Before the beacon, they say, they say_

_The sailors perished in a stormy fight _

_O' Little hope, guide me tonight _

_Afterwards they build the lighthouse to show the way_

_Leading us homeward, they say, they say_

_But it showed the ghosts still stuck in their plight_

_O' Little hope, guide me tonight_

_And the wandering figures can lead men away_

_Pulled beneath the waves, they say, they say_

_But light can outshine darkness and the night_

_O' Little hope, guide me tonight_

_So although this gleaming beacon can still betray _

_It is a comfort, they say, they say_

_And so the burning eye will set you right_

_O' Little hope, guide me tonight_

And it calms me, even if in reality it has changed nothing at all.

When the song is over I allow myself to ask the question that is burning inside me. "Am I doing the right thing?" I am desperate to hear the answer but scared of it at the same time.

Mags tilts her head to look at me. "I believe," she says which I guess is her way of saying that even though she doesn't know everything I have been doing- or exactly how bad a mess things are in, she believes I will always do the right thing. And I guess that is enough. I am good enough, even if Mags is the only one who thinks so.

* * *

><p>As I head back to the Victor's Village my hand wrapped around the small parcel in my pocket, I can't help but notice the hordes of Peacekeepers rushing towards the docks.<p>

"What's going on?" I ask a lady who, like everyone else, is running to keep up with the rest of them.

"The fishermen are going on strike. They've moored or grounded the boats and won't budge them for nothing."

A peacekeeper pushes me aside and I stumble against the side of a house but the woman follows me, waggling an urgent finger in my face.

"You should do something!" she insists, although I can't tell if she wants me to try and end the strikes or the flow of peacekeepers that are swarming like flies around the scene.

"What- what am I meant to do?"

"They'll listen to you," she says, "Go! Go!" and like everyone else she tries to push me towards the epicentre, to force me again into the fray. I am dragged along like a row boat in the tide.

More people fill up the narrow alleyway and I struggle to hear what the woman is saying above the insistent patter of their feet and furious roar of their voices.

"Quick! Quick!"

A sudden crash erupts from the beach, someone screams and I hear a steady thudding which I imagine are the peacekeeper's batons rapping against their shields. More screams and a luminous orange glow swells beyond the houses. I know they have set the boats alight even before I smell the smoke, even before the demanding calls of the fishermen turns to outrage.

"Now!" she tells me.

But I still don't know what to do. I don't want to get mixed up in it. I don't know what I am meant to say or why anyone would want to listen to me. The woman keeps saying over and over- 'now! Now! Go'.

There is another crash from the beach. I feel the small parcel in my pocket and know there is only one thing I can do right now- only one thing I can trust myself with.

I turn from the woman and head in the opposite direction from everyone else; ignoring the looks they give me and the sounds of horror that echo behind me. I have turned my back on all of this once; I can turn my back on all of this again.

I sprint up to the victor's village and storm up the steps leading to Annie's house; the only real safe place on this planet. She is in her room, curled up in a chair reading a book and I throw myself to the ground in front of her.

My thoughts tumble through my mind; I am completely out of breath. I can still see the flames flickering on the beach and hear the insurgent voices of the fishermen. For a second I close my eyes and try to block it all out. I try to remember where I am and who I am with. Deep breath. Things are alright.

"Finnick? What are you doing?" She slips from her chair and kneels down next to me, reaching for my face. "What's happened?"

"I wasn't going to do this now. I was going to plan something special- something to make us remember it but I know we are going to remember this anyway- it's not about where or when- I don't suppose it matters why -except because I love you. There is one reason why you are the most important person to me and that's because you make me happier than I ever thought I could be. I want this. I want you and me. I want to be happy and calm and I don't want to be afraid anymore. If I could I would never look out those windows again because I don't need to and I don't want to."

As I fumble in my pocket, Annie catches my arm and pulls it in to her chest. She looks down at the small box that I collected from town. She nuzzles her head against my hand and I am suddenly aware that she is crying- that we both are. We lean in, our heads resting on each other's shoulders so my lips are next to my ear.

"Will you accept it?" I ask her. Suspended, mid-breath I await her answer.

She nods, her chin knocking against my collarbone. "I do."

I pull back and finally open the box to show her the small band of gold. Nothing fancy. Nothing Capitol made just simple, plain. The way things are meant to be. I take it from the box and she holds out her shaking hand. I slip the ring onto her finger.

"I'm sorry I didn't do it properly," I tell her.

Annie shakes her head. "Since when has it ever been about doing things properly with us?"

It was probably selfish of me to turn away from them all when they needed my help. They are trying to make a better place, they are fighting for freedom and equality and everything that it is right to want but although they are full of courage and optimism what confidence I had has long since gone. I have no choice but to cling to what little hope I have left. Annie is all my hope. All my happiness. All my tomorrows.


	121. Chapter 121

"On the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes who represent it."

The reading of the card. We knew it would come but I just didn't anticipate it this soon. I'd rather not see it- I'd rather turn off the television and pretend it is still yet to be announced but when I start to get up Annie grabs my arm and pulls me back down onto the sofa.

"What are they doing?"

"They are going to tell us the twist in the Games for the Quell." My stomach twists. It feels as though President Snow is looking directly at me- seeing right through the television set into our sitting room. As if he can somehow see my momentary happiness, as if he can see the ring on Annie's finger, hear our promise to each other.

"On the fiftieth anniversary, as reminder that two rebels died for every Capitol citizen, every district was required to send twice as many tributes" When he mentions the rebels I get the impression that he doesn't mean the men and women in the districts who fought during the dark days but the men and women who are still on strike, down at the docks, those who are beaten and arrested and who still continue to fight. He means the Praetorians. He means any person who has ever had the gall to stand up against him. He is talking to the man I was a year ago.

As the President opens the box and draws out a yellowed envelope I brace myself. I try not to let the words sink in.

"On the Seventy-fifth anniversary," I draw in a deep breath. "As a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female victors will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

Immediately Alba's words spring into my mind; _"All of you- all the victors. You just saw it. He was unhappy about the amount of power victors are given before but now he has been publically defied in the games I expect it will be the final straw."_

I heard what he said. I heard it, I understand it. I know what it means. I will return to the arena. It doesn't matter about the other male victors in District 4 I know I am the one who will be reaped. And Annie… or Mags…

I should be shattered. I should be carried by a sudden impulse of fear or rage or numbness but I'm not. If anything, it is acceptance. Just like that. Deep down I already knew this was coming.

The battle is not over yet, Finnick. You can't just hide from it. You are going to have to face this now. Tears won't help you.

I breathe out. Letting my fear of the last few months slip away as I replace it will resolve. I am going to survive this. They are going to survive this. We are going to have to find a way to make this right.

Annie is sitting next to me.

Still.

Lost.

Alone.

I touch her arm but she doesn't respond.

As the programme ends the anthem plays and I rise to switch of the set. When I press the switch we are both plunged into darkness, shapes silhouetted by the guttering light from the window.

I turn on the lamp and look at Annie. "You don't have to be afraid," I tell her.

In the arena there a times when two tributes come face to face. If neither has a weapon then there is a chance that they might form an alliance. Even if one of them has a secret weapon- one which isn't on show- as long as they don't get it out then they have little reason to fear their unarmed comrade. However, if they choose to draw their weapon they have every reason to fear because the minute you draw a weapon you are givng the other person permission to kill you. Snow just drew his weapon.

Suddenly, like a deer leaping into a clearing Annie rushes for the kitchen. I chase after her, watching as she opens and closes all the cupboard doors, searching for something she doesn't seem able to find.

"Annie?"

I take a step towards her but she screams. It pierces the air. I tense.

"Annie… listen…"

She pulls a bread knife out the draw and holds it between us like a dagger. "It's not true; tell me it's not true."

"I saw it too," I tell her.

She shakes her head. "No.. They can't do that, they can't."

"Annie, you need to put down the knife."

She jabs it towards me, forcing me against the far wall. "They can't send me back there."

I don't want to contradict her but there is no way to avoid it. District 4 only has two living female victors and Mags struggles even to walk. We probably can't get out of going but we will find another way to survive. For both of us to survive. After all, both Katniss and Peeta survived- it is not impossible. Plutarch! I will speak to Plutarch. I will save us even if it means selling my soul to the Praetorians.

"It's going to be alright."

"I can't live through it again. I can't watch as they kill you."

I look down at the knife, "So you are going to do it for them?"

"Don't joke about it, please don't."

I see the look on her face and I realise this really isn't the time to joke.

Her eyes dart to the side. "I know!" she shouts to an invisible witness.

"Annie… who are you talking to? No one's there. Please, just put down the knife."

"They are going to kill us anyway. At least this way we have a choice. At least this way we will be together," she is muttering now, her words tumbling at a hundred miles an hour. "It won't hurt that much but there'll be blood, they will have to wash the floor," she grins as if she has told a very amusing joke.

As I see her eyes dart to the side again I launch myself forward and grab her wrist, squeezing it as tight as I can, hoping she will drop the knife. She screams right into my ear but keeps hold of the knife, trying to push the blade towards me.

"Annie!" as she continues to try and throw the knife towards me I push her back against the counter. "Annie please!" I'm shouting anything and everything that comes into my head because I just want her to come back to me again. "Annie, I love you. I love you!" I slam her wrist against one of the high cupboards and finally the knife falls to the floor. It lands near my foot and I sweep it away to the other end of the kitchen.

"You're hurting me," she cries. "Get help- please. He's killing me."

I pull back my hands in surrender and she drops to the floor, crawling on her hands and knees towards the knife. I rush out in front of her and throw myself onto the floor, putting my body between her and the weapon. She launches herself on top of me, still trying to reach it, clawing me with her nails.

I push against her, rising to my knees and I scoop her up into my arms, kicking and screaming. I hold her body close to mine, trying to cradle her like a child but she won't settle. Her fists pummel my back and she screams and yells.

I struggle to my feet and start to carry her bridle- style from the kitchen and up the stairs. I consider taking her to the bathroom and turning the shower on her but I remember my razor is in there so I kick open the door to my room and throw her down onto the bed, slamming the door shut behind me.

She scurries from the bed but I stand in front of the closed door, blocking her exit. I see her eyes darting around the room and momentarily settle on the window but I already know it is locked so I hold my position.

"Annie!" I call to her. "Annie!" but she isn't listening and I don't know what to do to bring her back.

She picks up a heavy lamp from my bedside table and yanks it from the wall, rushing towards me, ready to bludgeon me with it. Automatically I raise my hands to defend myself but it is not enough. There must be something more that I can do. There must be something I can do or say to bring her back.

Then, all of a sudden, it comes to me, "Did you ever hear about when Dylan faced the hydra?!" I am shouting now, panting, trying to pin her down. "The Hydra is a terrifying monster with hundreds – no, thousands on heads and every time Dylan chopped one off another grew in its place. He first faced the hydra when he was just a young warrior. He didn't even really know what he was up against but was hungry for fame."

I pin her on the floor, using my whole body to hold her in place. I gently use my hands to keep her head still so she is forced to look into my eyes. Even then she just closes them, screaming.

"It seemed unbeatable. It was unbeatable. He returned many times throughout his career to try and defeat the hydra but no matter what he did or how he tried more heads continued to grow. It didn't matter how many men were on his side- the more there were the more heads were cut down and the more grew back."

Her screams lull to whimpers and I see her eyes beginning to open. I pause for a moment. Maybe I have done it.

"Annie?"

She spits into my face. "Let me go."

I don't even lift my arm to wipe the spit out my eyes, I just keep talking. At least her eyes are open now. At least she can look into mine and there is a chance that she will recognise me. There is a chance that I can bring her back.

"As you know Dylan is very brave but bravery isn't always enough to defeat the monster. Although he tried many times to succeed, the hydra always seemed too strong. Some battles are never truly lost or won. Just as Dylan couldn't defeat the hydra, the hydra couldn't defeat Dylan. But he never stopped trying to defeat the monster. No matter how many heads it grew."

Quiet. Finally. I feel her muscles begin to relax and she no longer fights against me. "Annie?"

She doesn't reply.

"Annie?"

"Could you get off me?" she asks, angry- still not herself but I do as she asks. Already dark bruises have risen on her skin where I held her wrists.I had no choice but I hate seeing them.

She gets to her feet and goes to sit on the bed, blankly staring at the dark window. "If you die I'm going too." She leans forward and holds her head in her hands.

"We're going to keep fighting," I tell her, "I am going to make this alright. I promise."

She still doesn't look at me. "I'm very tired," she says. "I think I'm going to go to sleep."

She doesn't even take off her clothes; she just crawls under the covers and turns onto her side so she can no longer see me.

I look around the room. It looks as though a bomb has hit it. Part of me wonders if I should tidy up. Or maybe I should just go to sleep as well. But I don't.

Instead I switch out the light and go to sit on the chair in the corner of the room so I can watch over her. I need to make sure she doesn't wake up in the night and become lost in the darkness again. And while I watch maybe I can figure out what I am going to say to Plutarch.


	122. Chapter 122

I march through the centre of town, heading straight for the docks. On my way I am given a number of strange looks- pitying looks, questioning looks. The kind of looks people give you when they don't really know what to say.

I take the steps down to the beach. I can already see the small cluster of men and woman who still sit in the wet sand; the remaining few who still dare to try and protest. They are surrounded by a ring of armed Peacekeepers. As I approach the group raise their heads- expectantly- hopefully- but as soon as I reach within a metre of them a Peacekeeper holds out an arm to stop me.

"You can't go any further," he says.

Now I have a clearer look at the protesters I see how all of them sit quite still, holding hands. They don't talk. They are without weapons or supplies. They are just sitting there in silent defiance.

I shrug my shoulders and lower the sack I brought with me onto the ground- bread, apples, cheeses, flasks of water, cans of beans and dried crackers; I hope I have bought enough for everyone. I inch closer to the group and hold out a loaf of bread towards the nearest man.

"What do you think you're doing?" the peacekeeper asks.

I keep handing out the food, feeding it into their tight little circle where they can share it amongst them.

"Stop doing that!" the peacekeeper says.

"Or what?" I ask him.

He lifts his weapon, turning it towards me. I get the message. "Or you'll have this to answer to."

I shrug again. "Too bad you're talking to a dead man. I'm sure the President wouldn't be happy to find out you deprived the nation of watching me fight in the arena." As I talk I keep handing over the items. These are my people and it is my job to make sure they don't starve.

The peacekeeper looks hesitant but he lowers his weapon. He knows who I am. They all do. At least for the time being Snow has given me a bit of power, I suppose that is some level of compensation.

"And I'll be back again tomorrow," I say to the peacekeeper but I make sure it is loud enough for all the protestors to hear. I won't let them starve them into oppression. If this is the only way I can help the cause then this is what I am going to do.

* * *

><p>I wait until Annie leaves the house. We haven't spoken of the Game since the night it was announced and any time I try to bring it up she turns away from me and refuses to listen. I understand, sometimes it is easier to pretend things aren't happening- I would be doing the exact same thing if I thought I could get away with it but it is down to me to make this right. I have to find a way to save us. I can't let them take her from me, I just can't. I look at the damaged phone socket in the hallway; I never thought I would regret the day I ripped that out.<p>

I wait a couple of minutes so I'm sure Annie will have reached her home then I head along the path to Mags' house. As always, the door is open so I just head inside.

Mags is shuffling through the sitting room with her stick, each step seems painfully slow but a few months back we hadn't known if she would ever have been able to walk again.

"Do you mind if I use your phone?"

"Go ah" she says, nodding towards the hallway.

I shut the door, hoping it will mask most of my conversation, and then I dial.

_Bring. Bring…._

_Bring. Bring…._

_Bring. Bring…._

_Bring. Bring…._

And finally the answerphone kicks in; 'You have reached Plutarch Heavensbee, unfortunately he is not available right now so please leave your name and message and he will get back to you as soon as he can.'

Every time it is exactly the same. He is impossible to get hold of. And yet he is the person I need to speak to the most. If I can't speak to him. If we can't figure out a plan then… no, I can't think about that, I mustn't think about it. We are going to find a way. Plutarch knows of a safe place, surely we can still go there.

One last try… maybe he will pick up this time.

_Bring. Bring….Bring. Bring….Bring. Bring….'Y_ou have reached-'

I slam the phone into the wall. The door creaks open behind me and Mags clings to the frame. I can tell by the look on her face that she is concerned.

"I need to figure out a way. There has to be a way to get us out of the arena. I can't… Annie won't- I know I'm going to be reaped, Snow's been gunning for me and maybe I can face it, maybe I can find a way to survive but if she's there… I don't think I can save both of us. "

She nods. She understands but there is no real solution to the problem.

"I'm alright. You should get some rest, it's getting late."

Mags gently shuts the door and I am tempted to pick up the phone again. Surely, eventually, Plutarch has to pick up. He can't ignore me forever.

_Bring. Bring….Bring. Bring…. _A dead end. That's what this is. Mags' phone might as well be ripped out of the wall as well- they might as well be all ripped out the wall, the good it will do me.

I had dreams of me and Annie spending the rest of our lives together but it doesn't look like the rest of our lives will be very much time at all. I imagine her years from now, the engagement ring still on her finger- that broken promise forever tying her to the past. It's not fair. I don't want to save her so she can live in sadness, still stuck in the unfilled promise. I can't let that happen.

I guess she is probably still awake.

I knock lightly on her bedroom door. "It's only me," I tell her then push the door open.

Annie is propped up in her bed, staring at the wall opposite. I sit down on the edge of the mattress and suddenly realise that I have no idea how I am going to explain my thoughts to her. I take hold of her left hand and look at the simple gold band. Hopefully one day I will get a chance to give it back to her.

"Annie, I've been thinking about this," I hold up her hand to indicate the ring.

"Me too," she says.

Phew. This will definitely make it easier.

"I think we should get it over with." she says "Before the Games. Nothing big- just a quiet little…" but her voice trails off when her eyes catch mine. "Finnick?"

"I think we should wait."

Silence. She bows her head, embarrassed, shakes it slightly as if trying to trivialise the situation.

"It's not that I don't want to. I just that… well, it's more than just a wedding. It's a whole life together- promises of happiness and safety and I want to be sure I can give you that- all of that. I can't guarantee it right now. We don't know what is going to happen. I don't want this ring to tie you to a future that might never happen."

"I see." She looks down at her ring and pulls it from her finger. "It's just a ring, Finnick"

"No. It is more than that. It is a visible reminder of something we can't see." Maybe if she can't see it any more she will be able to forget.

"It doesn't change how we feel or the things we dream. With or without it I will always regret a future if it is without you."

"I promise you I will do all I can to get this ring back onto your finger. I'm sorry I feel I have to take it away."

She puts the ring into my palm and I close my fingers against it.

"Use it as your token."

I nod. It will be my reminder of invisible things.

* * *

><p>When the phone rings I immediately answer it. Plutrach!? "Hello?"<p>

"What happened to your phone, Odair?"

"Haymitch?"

"Just fancied a bit of a chat, you know- See how things are going, what with the Games, and all." Haymitch has never called me up before. I'm pretty sure Haymitch has never called up _anyone _before. Especially not to have 'a chat'.

"Yeah, you know… looking forward to the reaping." I try to hide the sarcasm in my voice- just in case someone is listening in but it is difficult.

"I'm guessing you'll be coming to the Capitol, whether that's as a mentor or tribute."

"I guess so." Where exactly is this going?

There is a pause. "I've been praying a lot lately." Strange, I really wouldn't have put Haymitch down as the religious type. "I reckon He's got a plan for all of us. I mean, I thought I'd never have a victor and then two come along at once. I've got to do the best for them now."

"Yeah, we all have people to look after."

"And we will find a way. Anyway… I had better go. I'll see you in the Capitol. Until then I'll keep my eyes on the heavens."

I think that is probably the most bizarre conversation I have ever had. What is with all that religious stuff? And talking about Katniss and Peeta and God's plans? There must be a reason for it. It is too weird not to mean something. Unless it just means the drink has finally got to him. What did he say? Keep my eyes on the heavens… heavens… Heavensbee.

* * *

><p>The crowd are silent, staring up at the stage as the sun beats down on or backs. The six of us stand in a roped off pen. Someone at least thought enough to provide a crate for Mags to sit on.<p>

Ardal is pacing up and down. Paddy keeps trying to break the silence with old and unfunny jokes that no one liked the first time he told them. Sorely stands next to Mags, his hand resting on her shoulder and me and Annie stand side by side, not daring to touch in case the cameras turn on us. Annie mutters to Eoghan- telling him about something their father said. Her lip trembles and her whole body is shaking. I am desperate to hold her but I can't.

Augustus keeps it brief. I can tell he is nervous because he goes to the male reaping ball, even though traditionally females are first. He scrambles around for one of the four bits of paper. I know it doesn't matter which one he picks- they probably all have my name on, anyway.

"Finnick Odair." I take a second to commit all their faces to memory, knowing that I may never return, and then climb the steps to the stage.

Then Augustus goes to the other ball and quickly pulls out a slip. "Annie Cresta." I knew it.

Hearing her name is enough. Annie loses it. She burst into tears, still muttering to Eoghan. At first she refuses to move but the peacekeepers direct her with their guns towards the stage.

"I volunteer!" In an unusual moment of verbal clarity Mags gets to her feet. And, in an instant, before Annie has even reached the top step, one woman is replaced by another.

And that's it- we are marched inside the Justice building. I am still in a state of shock. I never expected… how could Mags… I glance over my shoulder to look for Annie but they have already closed the doors.

"Keep moving," one of the peacekeepers says, nudging me with the butt of his gun. "We're going out the back."

"Wait? …What?"

Before I have a chance to speak, before Mags is able to catch her breath, both of us are on the train with Sorely and Paddy and Augusts and I realise I might never Annie again and that they never gave me a chance to say goodbye.


	123. Chapter 123

I open my mouth to thank her, to tell her she didn't have to do it. I open my mouth to say that I understand because I would have done the same thing if I could. I want to tell her that seeing her here makes me sad because I never really thought about her as being old but I know that's what she would tell me. She volunteered not because she is old but because that is how she sees herself now. As someone who is old; who has lived their life; she would say it is better to save a young girl like Annie who has her whole life ahead of her than someone like her who has already lived a whole life; the stroke has made things difficult; she doesn't want to feel useless and this proves to everyone that she is still good for something. Her being here means she has accepted who own mortality. I don't want her to feel like that, though- I don't want her to feel like Annie's life is worth more than her own because it's not. A life is a life. I open my mouth because I want to tell her things are alright. I open my mouth because I want to tell her that I love her. I open my mouth because I feel like one of us has to say something but when I do she shakes her head.

"Let an old woman have her reasons," she tells me in her usual garbled speech.

I push everything down inside me- deep down, so deep I hope I never find it again. I am going to make it right- I am going to make everything right- until then everything else must wait.

I glance across the room to Paddy and Sorely who sit together in front of the television watching the footage from the reaping. Sorely has a notebook in his lap and is writing down names. I don't want to join them- too many names on that list are going to be familiar. It may be common practice to consider what you are up against by watching the reapings but it is different when they are your friends; when you already know too much about them.

"I wonder if they are listening to us," I say but I already know they are.

Mags shrugs. I guess she is right- what difference does it make now- what more can they do to us. Still, I can't discuss the conversation I had with Haymitch. If I give away that he and Plutarch might have a plan then there is no way we will be able to get out of this.

I wonder if there is a way to disable the microphones… but they would notice. There is no way I could sign to her what I want to say. I expect there are cameras positioned around the carriage. What I need is another way to communicate.

On the other side of the carriage I notice a magazine rack. I wander over and start flicking through until I find what I am looking for; a crossword book. I pick it out and carry it back to Mags.

"Do you have a pencil?"

She shuffles through her bag and pulls one out, leaning over my shoulder as if she is going to help me with the puzzle.

"Right, let's see. 1 down- 8 letters- a line between two countries." I theatrically ponder it, "AH- got it." I bend over the magazine so even if the cameras zoom in they won't be able to see what I write- 'Haymitch' I lean back slightly, weighing it up… "No, that's not it" and I quickly rub it out again but I know Mags has seen, although, as always she doesn't outwardly let on. "How about…" this time I write in 'Plutarch.'

Mags rolls her eyes, "Boundary," she says and I rub out the word again and write in the correct answer.

"Next one…. 3 down- 6 letters- mysterious magic." I try to spend a bit more time thinking about this one- it needs to seem natural. I count down minutes in my head. I puff out my cheeks- "Alchemy? No… too many letters." It takes an age but I don't want it to sound false. They will be on the lookout for signs of rebellion. So I had better not find the answers too quickly. I jot down a few words at the side of the crossword, as if I am trying to work out if they will fit. Supernatural. Escape. Mystic. Plan. Psychic. Occult. Save.

Mags looks over my shoulder again, as if considering the words. I hope she is able to pick out the right ones. I write occult into the crossword.

"4 down- 7 letters- A spectrum." This time I immediately answer, "Rainbow." But instead of writing rainbow I write 'victors'.

Mags leans back in her chair and I pretend to still be considering the crossword, making sure I keep it close to my body so a camera would find it difficult to see what I have actually written. If only we could say what we really mean to instead of having to skirt round it all the time.

"It will be good to see everyone again, I missed them last year," Mags tells me. At first I don't know what she is saying- if we are still talking about the plan or if she is just making general talk but I continue as if we are talking about the plan.

"I don't know when we'll really have a chance to meet with them, what with the opening ceremony."

"No doubt we'll find Haymitch in the bar." It seems logical. No doubt we wouldn't be the only ones to look for him there.

Haymitch. Plutarch. Escape. Plan. Save. Victors…. What I don't understand is why, after all these years, Plutarch would go to Haymitch and not me.

I glance up at the television just as Haymitch is shown ambling up to the stage before Peeta takes his place. I watch as Katniss and Peeta stand side by side. The announcer is practically weeping as she despairs how the odds are never in their favour. Somehow it doesn't matter about the rest of us and who we are fighting or leaving behind- Cecelia and her three children. How Cashmere and Gloss are going to face each other in the arena. How I have to leave Annie and take Mags with me. None of that matters. All that matters are Katniss and Peeta and their 'love'. And I guess that is the real reason Plutarch has been ignoring my calls. I am no longer the golden boy hero who is going to lead the rebellion. I guess I said no too many times. Why speak to me when he could have the girl who set the whole of Panem on fire? I just hope, if I help them, Plutarch will help me too.

Of course when we arrive in the Capitol there is no time to see anyone other than prep teams and stylists. Still, I keep my eyes open, waiting for the sign- something to tell me what we have to do next, where are we going to go from here, how we going to work out the plan. I scrutinise each person who comes into my room, check every surface for messages, listen to every comment for hidden codes but there is nothing, just the usual jabber of mindless warbling.

Unsurprisingly they haven't dressed me and Mags in matching costumes. Whereas she is demurely dressed in a long dress, draped with nets and holding a trident as a cane I am practically naked.

"I guess the budget was running low," I tell her with a shrug as I turn to give her the full fleshy view of my ensemble. Good job I've been working out.

When the elevator doors open Johanna and Blight are already inside, heading down to the ground floor of the Remake Centre. Johanna gives a wolf whistle as we step in beside them.

"Looking good, Mags," she says, "Shame you have to stand next to that thing," she nudges me playfully, drawing her face up close to mine, "Seriously, I don't know whether to shag you or kill you." I can smell alcohol on her breath. I guess she fancied having a little something to get her through tonight.

"Hopefully neither," I tell her. I don't think Annie would be too impressed either way.

As the doors open I scan the room, hoping to spot Haymitch but he's not around. I do, however, spot Katniss Everdeen standing by a horse, looking round the room like a lost puppy. Most victors down here have already got into character- their time old facades that help them cope in the Capitol. Even around each other we can't just be completely ourselves. We are victors and we always have to show everyone exactly why we are the best. But not Katniss. She is just as she always is- completely without any show. Even when she is trying to hide the truth it is visible on her face.

"Dare you to go over there," Johanna whispers.

I shrug. Why not? Maybe I'll see what all the fuss is about.

I sneak up behind her, grabbing a handful of sugar cubes on my way. As I get closer I pop one into my mouth. As I lean in towards her, I crunch up the cube until it catches her attention. She turns. I pop another one into my mouth and lean up against her horse so she has no choice but to look at me. "Hello, Katniss."

"Hello, Finnick." She tries to sound casual but I can tell she is already awkward about me being there.

"Want a sugar cube?" I hold out my hand. "They're supposed to be for the horses but who cares? They've got years to eat sugar, whereas you and I… well, if we see something sweet, we better grab it quick"

"No thanks, I'd love to borrow your outfit sometime, though." I guess she couldn't help but notice.

I look her up and down. It seems Cinna has gone for a slightly different look this time round. "You're absolutely terrifying in that get-up. What happened to all the little-girl dresses?" I lick my lips as I move towards her again, not giving her any space to breathe.

"I outgrew them." She is desperate to get away. Out the corner of my eye I can see Johanna watching, egging me on, so I grab hold of Katniss' collar and run my fingers along it. There is nowhere she can go now.

"It's too bad about this quell thing. You could have made out like a bandit in the Capitol. Jewels, money, anything you wanted."

"I don't like jewels and I have more money than I need. What do you spend all yours on anyway, Finnick?"

How little she knows. How naïve. She is just one year out the games and she hasn't a clue.

"Oh, I haven't dwelt in anything as common as money for years."

"Then how do they pay you for the pleasure of your company?" I almost balk at this- what has Haymitch told her? But I manage to hold my ground.

"With secrets." My voice drops to a whisper. If only she knew. "What about you, girl on fire? Do you have any secrets worth my time?"

I am so close to her now we are practically kissing. I can feel her breath on my face. She turns a deep crimson. "No, I'm an open book. Everybody seems to know my secrets before I know them myself."

"Unfortunately I think that's true." She is too straight forward for this game. Unlike the web of lies the rest of us have woven around ourselves she only has one and even that is transparent. I glance at Peeta who is just across the room from us. They are not in love. Anyone can see that. Anyone who understands what real love is. Peeta glances round the room- looking for her- finally he locates us. "Peeta is coming." I say. I guess it is my cue to leave. I take half a step intending to say no more but somehow imore spills out of me. "Sorry you have to cancel your wedding. I know how devastating that must be for you."

Idiot. I don't know why I said it. I guess because we really had to cancel our wedding. I guess because it really does mean something to us and because I really am devastated. But that's not her fault. Katniss and Peeta are just the final spark. They didn't start the fire.

I shove another sugar cube in my mouth. I can't see Johanna; I look around until I spot her stood over by her chariot. I take a couple of steps towards her but suddenly Haymitch is in front of me.

"What's up, Haymitch, want to invite me to a prayer meeting or something?"

"Sure, sure, laugh it up. Thought you might want a drink after."

"After?"

"Yeah, after the kids have gone to bed," he glances across at Katniss and Peeta. "2am down in the bar. Who knows, maybe I'll even make you a convert."

"You wouldn't be the first man to find God at the bottom of a bottle, Haymitch." I call after him. I can't beleive Plutarch has trusted Haymitch with a plan. He probably won't be sober by the time the meeting starts.


	124. Chapter 124

2am. The bar looks deserted. Only the lumpy shadows of tables and chairs accent the gloom. I stand at the threshold staring into the darkness, trying to make some sense out of it. I reach round the edge of the door until my fingers find the switch and I flick it on. The low hung bulbs cast the bar in a seedy light. It still looks as empty as it did in darkness. I guess Haymitch forgot but where is everyone else? I expected a group of us to gather and discuss the current state of the Games, I imagined debates and agreements and a small crowd of victors, but I am alone.

"Why don't you take a seat?" I almost jump out of my skin as Haymitch's voice punctures the air. He chuckles and leads the way over to one of the circular tables in the corner of the room.

"Where's everyone else?"

"Asleep if they have any sense."

I'm glad he is no longer speaking in riddles but if he has something to say he had better get on and say it because my patience is running low and my bed is calling.

"We thought it best if not all of us met at once, that way none of us know too much. I agreed to speak to you- for some reason Plutarch thought you wouldn't appreciate it coming from him." He gives me a pointed look, the kind of look that suggests he knows more than he should, although it is probably a bluff.

I roll my eyes; it's late, I'm tired and I'm in no mood for games. "So why am I here?"

"We have a plan."

"A way to escape?" that is what he said before, wasn't it- that he had a way for the victors to escape the arena? That is the reason I am here- the reason I can still cling to a last strand of hope.

He pulls his mouth into a lopsided grimace, "Depends how you look at it."

"Will me and Mags get out alive?"

"Maybe. There are no guarantees, even with a plan things happen, things don't work out but there is a chance, I guess."

"We already have a chance. Why bring me here to tell me that? You said there was a way out." More manipulations, more games, more plans that work out for everyone else but screw me over. I am on my feet before I even have a chance to really sit down.

"There is a way out, I'm just not going to lie to you and say you are going to be one of the ones to get there. No point sugar-coating it but I reckon this is the best offer you are going to get so you can quit your whining and actually listen to what I have to say."

"Well what exactly are you asking me to do?"

"Sit down and maybe I'll tell you."

I study him. For so many years he has been drunk Haymitch- a laughing stock- harmless but cantankerous. He is someone I wouldn't trust to look after my keys but would share a drink with from time to time. Yet here he is telling me he has a plan. Telling me he has a plan when I don't. I search his face for signs of drink but his look is straight and there is no hint of slur to his voice. Maybe he is sober after all- maybe he is serious after all. I sit down. There is no harm in listening.

"I know I don't have to tell you about what's been happening in the districts. I reckon in Four it has been just as bad as anywhere. The seventy-fourth games changed things- _they_ changed things." He doesn't have to say it for me to know he is talking about Katniss and Peeta. It seems, more than anything, they have changed Haymitch.

"Well," he continues, "things have finally got moving in the districts and we need them- we need Katniss to keep it going. While she lives, the revolution lives. "

"So you want me to sacrifice myself, is that it?" Looks like, once again, Plutarch has chosen his victor and this time it isn't me. I wonder if they will let me choose my death or if it will be death by bow and arrow as one of the Praetorian's prodigies takes down another. I can tell by his face that I'm not too far off the mark. Effectively he is asking me to die.

"Well I wouldn't put it quite like that," he says. "I was just hoping that, maybe, you could help keep her alive. There is a plan to break all of you out but it will take time- the games will still go ahead and I'm not naïve enough to believe everyone is going to go along with the plan."

"How are you going to get us out?"

Haymitch shakes his head, "I don't know. Plutarch is speaking to the brainiacs from Three- between them I'm sure they'll have this figured out…. I just want you to look out for them."

"Both of them?"

"If Peeta dies we will lose her too."

I raise an eyebrow. Is there some truth to their act, after all? But I don't push Haymitch for the answers. There are more important things than gossip to discuss.

"So you want me to play body guard…" I'm still waiting for it to fully sink in.

If there is a plan to get us out then this could increase our chances of survival- play the Capitol's game and only one of us gets out alive, play Plutarch's and maybe all of us will. Of course, if I spend all my time looking out for Katniss and Peeta then how am I meant to look out for myself and Mags? If I agree to this I will have no choice but to put their lives ahead of my own. Can I put them- can I put the revolution in front of my own life?

I can feel Annie's ring resting against my chest on the chain I looped through it. I promised her I would come back. That I would do everything within my power to survive. I am young, I am strong, maybe I could beat the others… but it is not in my heart to kill them. These are my friends, my family…

What would Annie say if I told her I failed the revolution? I wouldn't be able to face her if I knew I was the coward whose selfishness killed our chance to get rid of Snow. What use would happiness be to me if I had to continue to live in servitude? This is my chance to finish this once and for all. This is my chance to make our dream a reality. We could be free. All I have to do is pledge my life to the cause.

"That's about the size of it," Haymitch says.

"And Mags?"

"Obviously it would be her decision but we would like for her to be involved." I turn towards the door of the bar; Plutarch walks towards us and joins us at the other end of the table.

"I should have known you'd be snooping around," I say. I don't wait for his reply but quickly move on to more pressing issues. "Why have you been ignoring my calls?"

"Because I already know what you want to say and this is my answer- Haymitch has given you my answer."

"And Annie? I'm not agreeing to anything until I know she is safe." Since the Capitol selected her name from the reaping ball I certainly wouldn't put it past them to hurt or capture her. Snow knows how much she means to me and he will do anything to try and keep me doing what he wants.

There is a pause. "We will do our best."

What kind of promise is that? What kind of insurance is that after I pledge my life to the cause?

"So do you think you are up to the job?" Haymitch asks.

"Believe me, you are just the man for the job." Plutarch adds, giving particular weight to the statement, as if it is some personal joke but again I don't push for answers.

"There are still lots of things to figure out but we have the rest of the week. First we will have to set up an alliance between you and-

"I'll have to think about it," I tell them. "I'm not going to agree to anything tonight."

It sounds so heroic to agree to die for a cause you believe in- and I do believe in it- even when I was too scared to act I still wanted it- it is the same thing all of us want, even if we are too oppressed and beat down to even admit it to ourselves. But I have responsibilities- I have to look out for Mags, I have Annie depending on me and if I die for this cause then there is no one left to live for them.

As I walk away my mind rattles with new plans and promises. As soon as I step foot in that arena I don't see how I can't be a part of this- how I would ever be able to turn away from something this big- something that I should do? But…. But… there are a hundred buts and what ifs so thick and heavy in my mind that I can't push through to make my decision.

Mags, of course, is asleep. I creep into her room- tiptoeing towards her bed until I realise it would be less frightening for me to wake by knocking than for her to wake and find me staring at her so I retreat to the other side of the door and knock, unashamedly until I hear her stir.

"I'm sorry," I tell her, "But it cannot wait."

She wearily rubs the sleep from her eyes and shuffles to a sitting position. Neither of us turn on the light so as I explain everything I know we squint at each other in the dull glow that shines in from the hallway.

She waits until I am done and all the facts have been said before commenting, "So what are you going to do?"

I want to tell her I am going to do it because I have no choice but to be in these games so I might as well stand up and be counted. For once I don't want to take the coward's route. I want to do something worthwhile. I want to be able to say this but all my doubts continue to haunt me so instead I say, "I don't know."

She nods slowly. "When are you going to talk to them again?"

"I don't know. Tomorrow? We will have to move quickly- there is only this week to get all the plans in place."

She draws in a deep breath, "When you see them, tell them I'm in." just like that she has decided, not an ounce of doubt in her mind.

"How can you be so sure?"

"What's there not to be sure of? They have put us in these Games to kill us, so we might as will die for something that has a bit of meaning."

"But what about-?"

"Finnick, staying out of this isn't going to keep her safe."

And I know she is right but I just had to hear someone say it because so often it feels as though doing the right thing for everyone has to contradict doing the right thing for me and Annie. Often the two seem so opposite that it is difficult to believe this is right on both sides. But this is the right thing, on every side. I am going to keep Katniss Everdeen alive. I am going to keep the revolution alive.

"Do you think it will work?" I ask Mags.

"It better had, it's the only plan we have."


	125. Chapter 125

If I am going to keep an eye on Katniss and Peeta then I am going to have to form an alliance with them. I wish I had known this before- maybe I would have passed on the episode with the sugar cubes but I guess that can't be helped now.

I notice her over by the knot-tying station- perfect. I watch her fingers struggling to loop the rope through the middle and round to the other side so I cross the gymnasium and crouch down behind her taking the rope from her grasp.

She turns to face me, surprised.

"There," I say and I hold up the knot for her to see. She looks more annoyed than impressed. I guess she really thought she had it under control. "I'll show you another," I say and I pull the rope loose and start again.

I need to show her that I am not the person she thinks I am. I've got one tool which I can use to do that- humour. Once the knot is finished I loop the noose around my throat and pull it with my other hand, sticking my tongue out and rolling my eyes back into my head. I thought it would get a laugh but she just rolls her eyes and moves away, I guess humour isn't really her thing. It's beginning to look as though teaming up with her could be an impossible task. I consider joining Peeta over at the knife throwing station but it might look as though I'm trying too hard so instead I join Mags at the archery station and pretend to line an arrow up on a bow.

Mags looks at me expectantly and I know she wants an update on what happened with Katniss.

"Not so good," I tell her. "I think I messed this thing up the first time we met."

"What about me, I could talk to her," Mags says.

And she is right. She is someone that Katniss would definitely listen to- she is someone that everyone would listen to. However, although I generally understand what she says, I know other people won't find it so easy. I could hover around to try and translate but I don't think that would help. It doesn't exactly create a sense of trust.

Something must show on my face because Mags adds, "Don't worry, she will see."

"Maybe after lunch," I tell her, "I still need to talk to Haymitch. Maybe he will have some more ideas."

I glance around the room. Katniss is sat with Wiress and Beetee, deep in conversation. They may be clever but they won't be able to provide the protection Haymitch had in mind. I wonder if Plutarch managed to convince them to be part of the plan. As I look around the room I start to question how many people Haymitch might have recruited altogether and what jobs they would have been assigned. Could it be possible that half the tributes are involved in this plan? More?

* * *

><p>While everyone else goes to lunch I manage to slip away. Haymitch meets me at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to the viewing gallery. It's not like him to pay attention to training; I guess he really is taking things seriously this year.<p>

He nods to me as a greeting and waits for me to talk first.

"We're in," I tell him. "Me and Mags."

"Right. So you've got to make an alliance. Think you can do that? I saw the pair of you talking and she didn't seem to impressed." He smiles, clearly amused by my ineptitude.

"Don't worry, Haymitch, I still have my secret weapon."

He looks confused but don't explain. He is not the only one who can act all mysterious.

* * *

><p>When I join the others again I sit with Johanna. She has almost finished her lunch but swipes a roll from my plate.<p>

"So how's it going?" I ask.

"Don't know why we even bother with these sessions. If we don't know it by now we'll probably never know it. "

"Yeah, you know what they say; you can't teach an old dog new tricks."

"Who are you calling a dog?" She jokingly punches my arm but it is still hard enough that I almost end up spitting my lunch out onto my plate. "So are you still following tradition and sticking with the career pack?"

I glance across at Cashmere, Gloss, Brutus and Enobaria. "Not if I can help it."

"Good. You know, you and me, I reckon we'd make a pretty deadly team."

"Yeah…" From the way she is talking I'm guessing Johanna isn't part of Haymich's plan, although I don't know why not. I would certainly want her on my side but it isn't exactly my place to recruit.

Johanna's face hardens, "You don't have to team up if you don't want to."

"I do want to, it's just…" but there is no way I can explain without giving the plan away. "I've got to look out for Mags, you know."

"And you don't think I would help you with that?"

"Well…"

She gets to her feet, "Well then stuff you," she carries off her tray and throws everything into the bin. Whoops.

Some people glance my way but most are so used to Johanna's outbursts that they think nothing of it. She'll come round again. I know she will. She always does.

Me and Mags don't approach Katniss again right away. I don't want to become a pest. We let the hours slip by and then I take Mags by the arm and lead her across to the fishing station where Katniss had begun training. It is so perfect it is as if she knew what we were planning.

Katniss looks up at me with hostility and suspicion but I help Mags to step forward. "I would like to introduce you to my district partner, mentor, dear friend, surrogate mother and all round wonder-woman. Katniss- this is Mags." I help Mags kneel down at Katniss' side, offer another smile, which is rejected, and leave the two alone together.

I spend some time trying to get Johanna's attention but she just ignores me so I head back to the knot-tying station and keep myself busy tying every knot I know. Something about it just makes me feel better. The more knots I tie the more together I am. I soon lose track of time until I am suddenly aware of a heavy silence that has spread across the training room.

I look up. Katniss is no longer sat with Mags but is at the archery station. She is shooting these fake birds which the trainer throws high up into the air- as fast as lightning- as smooth as water. Deadly. Beautiful. Brilliant. I have no idea why Haymitch thinks this girl needs a body guard.

It provides a brilliant opening for the beginning of the second day of training. Before Katniss is able to go to any other station I approach her.

"That was some impressive stuff yesterday."

She shrugs as if it is nothing, "We all have things we are good at- that's how we ended up here."

"I was wondering," I tell her, "if you'd consider something of an exchange. An hour of archery lessons for an hour of trident training."

She narrows her eyes, trying to spot the trick, "Alright," she says apprehensively, "Why not? Which do you want to do first?"

"Archery." After all, it is the best way to put her at ease; by getting her in her comfort zone.

I am by no means a natural archer but I do improve under her tuition. Still, I don't see myself picking up a bow and arrow when we reach the arena. I think we all prefer to stick to what we know. What we know works for us.

She starts to relax a little more around me- not enough to truly put her guard down but enough to allow us to exchange a few words. The more I talk to her the more oblivious she seems to everything. I have pledged my life to protect this girl and she doesn't even have a clue. If she knew would she behave differently? Would she have something more to say?

When we switch round and I try to teach her how to use a trident more of her barriers rise up again and my reception is prickly. She listens to what I have to say and follows my instruction but the conversation falls silent. I notice Johanna watching us with interest and wonder if she thinks this is a sort of betrayal.

I catch up with Haymitch in the bar again that night. He folds his arms across his chest and looks up at me. "Looks like you have some competition. Half the victors what an alliance, it seems."

"I'm not surprised. Not after yesterday's display. Too bad we already have an arrangement."

He clicks his tongue, "She wants to team up with Mags but she isn't so keen about you."

"Yeah, I kinda got that impression." I slump down in the chair opposite him.

"Well it's up to you to sort that out- we're relying on you."

"Who else is involved?"

"3, 6, 8, 11 and I spoke to Johanna and Blight today. They'll help you out. Everyone knows what they have to do and they'd better stick to it. You need to find a way to get Katniss to trust you. The plans depends on it, understand?"

I assure him that I do but on the morning of the third training day I don't approach Katniss again. Instead I find Peeta. She might not trust me but she sure as hell trusts him. Maybe, if I can get Peeta on my side he will be able to convince Katniss as well.

He sits at the fishing station but he isn't watching what his fingers are doing with the hooks and lines. Instead he stares off to where Katniss is throwing knives. He has the same sort of expression on his face that I imagine I get when I think about Annie; complete and utter adoration. He really wasn't lying last year at his interview.

"You're worried about her?" I sit at his side but he doesn't even turn to look at me.

"I shouldn't. I mean, she can look after herself. It's just…"

"You can't help but worry?"

"Yeah."

"I know how you feel."

"Who-?" he glances round the room. His gaze fixes momentarily on Johanna.

"She isn't here."I assure him. I don't want him to get the wrong idea. "I ought to pleased about that, I suppose, but I'm not sure it's going to make the slightest bit of difference."

Peeta looks at me, really looks at me and I know he understands. We haven't exchanged more than a few words but he already knows I am not the man from the papers and on television.

"In a way it is probably worse. At least while Katniss is here I know I can keep her alive."

"And you know what's happening to her. It is hard to beleive someone is alright when you can't prove it with your own eyes" I try not to let it drag me down too much. I can't think too much of Annie now. I have a job to do.

For a moment neither of us quite know what to say. I automatically grab some fishing line and run it through my fingers. Peeta fiddles with his clothes.

"Are you nervous?" he finally asks.

I think about lying and telling him I'm not because that's what I would say if I was in front of a camera but there is nothing to be gained by lying today.

"Yeah. It's hard standing on the edge of something."

I scramble to my feet. I think this has been a good conversation but it is not one I can sustain for too long. The truth is too hard to discuss face to face. Anyway, I need to prepare for the private training sessions. Of course it doesn't really matter what I do. It won't change anything now but I still don't want to have to just walk in there without a plan. I guess I'll just show them what I can do with my trident, after all, I didn't get to show them last time round.


	126. Chapter 126

"I can't believe Cinna put you in that thing." We all stare at Katniss in her wedding dress. It is the worst thing she could be wearing tonight. It is a symbol of Snow and his power over us. I honestly can't beleive he woudl do it. Maybe he thinks he is making some sort of statement- something about the young star-crossed lovers being torn apart. But it is the wrong statement to make tonight. That is what the Capitol would expect- the sort of thing they will coo and fawn and bawl over but it is not what we want. Tonight is about showing Snow he can't destroy us that easily. It is about showing him that we are more than just pieces in his Games. Unsurprisingly the rest of the victors stare daggers at her, almost as if she did it on purpose. She is the girl that turned up in fancy dress for a funeral.

"He didn't have any choice. President Snow made him." That, at least, I can believe.I guess the scorn was unfounded.

"Well, you look ridiculous!" Cashmere drags Gloss to the front of the procession and all twenty-four of us are led out onto the stage.

As soon as the interviews begin, one thing is very clear- not one of us is willing to go down without a fight.

I don't feel very prepared. I don't really have anything I want to say to these people. I feel like I have said my piece already. After so many years of fighting and trying surely anyone who is going to listen already has. The only comfort is knowing that Annie will be watching this and, for that moment when I stare into the camera lens it will be like I am staring into her eyes again. I may not be able to see her but she will definitely see me.

When it is Mags' turn to speak Caesar is thankfully gentle with her. I hope people watching understand and don't write her off as mad or incapable.

"As one of our older victors who has seen the Games since the very beginning could you tell us a bit about how the Games have changed over the years?"

Mags draws in a deep breath. I dig my nails into my wrist. I just want this to go well. I want her to have a chance to speak up just like everyone else because she deserves her chance.

"One thing which is different is the relationship between the victors and the Capitol." It is jumbled but she speaks slowly, as deliberately and as clearly as she can. I know how difficult it is for her but I think she might be getting though.

I try to look at their faces, to see if they can hear what I hear, if they can understand it too but many heads are bowed, looking down at their programmes. I guess some people aren't willing to put in the effort needed to truly is their loss. Few people have Mags' wisdom.

"In the beginning the victors would just disappear after winning but since mentors and victory tours were introduced everyone has got a lot closer. Fifty years ago this quell would not have the effect it has today."

She tries to continue but Caesar asks her another question, cutting her off mid-flow. I can see her retreat into herself slightly. She tries so hard and yet, still, it is not enough. She is just an old woman to them. No longer the bright young tributes they adore and expect. Yet Snow called for this, it is what he wanted.

"Next we have Finnick Odair of District Four!" I get to my feet. If they took Mags' chance from her I guess it is up to me to speak for both of us.

I don't feel equipped to question the legality of the Quell as Beetee has done just before me. I can't openly talk against Snow or his regime. I don't want to thank the Capitol for their love and support so I am just going to have to take another approach. As I sit my hand finds the necklace with the ring on which still hangs around my neck… Annie. I see myself slipping a piece of paper under her door the night before the games all those years ago and suddenly I know what I want to say.

"Now I-" Caesar begins but I interrupt him.

"Sorry Caesar but I have something I would like to share with everyone." He allows me to continue and I look right down the lens and I imagine I am addressing Annie directly. "This is for my one true love in the Capitol…"

I pause a moment until the words come to me. It is as if they have been written down, etched into my heart as the perfect parting words. These words began us, so there is no better way for us to end- if we have to end. As I speak I rest my hand across my chest so I can feel the ring.

"_If this is the last night we spend together_

_Then I hope you are watching_

_And you know how much I miss you_

_And that I wish I was there_

_Because I do_

* * *

><p>"<em>If this is the last night we spend together<em>

_Then I wish I was beside you_

_And you were in my arms_

_And I never had to let go_

_So I could stay right there._

* * *

><p>"<em>If this is the last night we spend together<em>

_Then I want to say I'm sorry_

_For all the things I never did_

_And the things I wish I hadn't_

_It was less than you deserved. _

* * *

><p>"<em>If this is the last night we spend together<em>

_Then find a new tomorrow_

_Don't live in the past_

_You cannot thrive on sorrows_

_And I want you to be happy. _

* * *

><p>"<em>If this is the last night we spend together<em>

_Then I want you to be brave_

_And find a way to carry on, _

_No matter what_

_Because I will be with you_

* * *

><p>"<em>If this is the last night we spend together<em>

_Then I want you to know that I love you_

_That you make me love you_

_That I can't help but love you_

_And that I always will." _

Part of me hopes that they realise we are all losing the people we love. That it is not just Katniss and Peeta and their high profile affair but all of us. We all have our tragic love stories.

Only when I have finished do I turn away from the camera and see the swooning figures in the audience who have all somehow convinced themselves that I am addressing them.

"Very nice, very nice," Caesar says appreciatively. "I don't suppose you would be willing to share the name of that 'one true love'?"

"Erm…. No. Some things I like to keep to myself." I wink at the audience. This is our little secret just between me and the thousands upon thousands of people watching. One of whom is Annie.

"Now, as you may, or may not be aware, you are something of a favourite here in the Capitol. People expect you will get lots of support from fans and sponsors. Does this add to the pressure of returning to the arena?"

"Not really. Obviously it is nice to know that I have people's support but everyone in the arena is a victor with their own supporters. Once you are fighting for your life the pressure is always on."

The rest of the questions pass in a blur. It is hard to know what to say but somehow words find me. However, I am relieved when I get to take my seat and merely watch the rest of the interviews.

They drift by until we near the very end. As usual I am unprepared for the tributes from District twelve. Cinna pulls of an absolutely remarkable display by turning Katniss' wedding dress into a mockingjay. Caesar asks him to take a bow. He does- understated, gracious. Suddenly I know that I am never going to see him again. He has done his part for the rebellion- he has given us our Mockingjay and now it is over. We are not the only ones in this arena.

Then, of course, there is Peeta… first "_We are already married"_ and then… "_Maybe I'd think that, too, Caesar, if it weren't for the baby." _

He more than deserves to have the last interview of the night. The crowd explodes. It is too much. It is all too much. There is nothing Caesar can do now to bring the crowd back on track. They are lost. The anthem blares out- louder than even the wails, trying to disguise the displeasure.

Katniss and Peeta get to their feet and join their hands- united against Snow, against these Games, against the whole injustice of it all. At my side Mags also gets to her feet and holds out her hands to me and Beetee. I am up as well- soon all of us are up- all twenty-four of us in a strong, unbroken line, united in our anger and sadness. United in our cause.

The feed pops out but it is moments too late. Everyone has already seen. We remain a while- frozen, our hands unbroken. Nothing is going to be the same again. I feel a shudder run through me and only then do I let go.

We all swarm from the stage heading back towards the elevators. I find Johanna and give her a smile which she thankfully returns. We try to join Katniss and Peeta but a peacekeeper blocks our way.

"Come on," Johanna snorts, "Let's take the stairs." She drags me to the side, heading towards the doors that lead out of the training centre. It is then that I see them. Johanna tries to drag me onwards but I shrug her off.

"Finnick!?" Johanna says, "Come on…"

But I am already gone. "Cardea?"

She is sat on a chair, a small girl with a colouring book lies on the floor at her feet. Victoria. My daughter.

"Finnick- don't even go there…" Johanna hovers just behind me but something pulls me forward.

Cardea look up, smiles. "I don't know why I am here. I shouldn't be here. I just… I'm sorry about this. "

I am torn between wanting to advance and wanting to run a mile. Victoria looks up at me. Her vibrant green eyes seem to glow in the light. When she catches sight of me she sits up, retreats, burying her head in Cardea's lap. Cardea whispers something in her ear and Victoria glances at me- just for a second- before hiding again.

"She's just shy."

My mouth has gone completely dry.I try to think of something to say but nothing comes. I think about moving towards them but my legs have turned to jelly.

There is a crash against the main doors as part of the crowd bangs against the glass before the peacekeepers can restrain them. It feels as if they are going to tear down the doors and raid the place. Finally I find my voice. "You shouldn't be here. It isn't safe."

"Finnick I…"

"You should go." But they don't move. I let Johanna drag me away- back to the elevators where the rest of the victors have already disappeared.

"You don't need to think about that right now." Johanna says. "It's not important." But somehow it is. When it might be your last night everything is important.

When the elevator doors open on level four I am met by Haymitch who pulls me aside. "We haven't got much time," he says, "Do you think she trusts you?"

With everything that has just happened I have no idea how to reply, I am struggling to keep up with all the information which is being thrown at me. I just shake my head.

"Then take this" He slips a solid gold bangle into my hand- "Use it as your token. She'll know it's from me."

"But I- I already have a token." My necklace. Annie's ring. I can't just leave it behind.

"But now you use this one."

"Right?" I am spekaing like an idiot. Nothing is making sense.

"We are going to send bread into the arena. The origin of it will tell you the day. The number of rolls the hour- got it?"

"Right… I have to go now. Good luck…" i mutter, forgetting that i am the one in need of luck. I stumble a couple of steps away then I change my mind and double back.

Haymitch has already reached the elevator but I call him back. "Haymitch." I slip the necklace off and hold the ring and the chain in my hand. "Please. Take this. Keep it safe. It's Annie's wedding ring. If i don't come back..." but i can't say it.

"I'll make sure she gets it." He says gruffly then holds out his palm to accept the token. He nods to me then disappears into the elevator. We don't bother saying goodbye. It is only once he is gone that i realise that I should have. This is my last night before the arena, I should be squeezing in every single reply possible.

Outside the window I can hear the chaos building. This is what Plutarch wanted. This was his vision all along.

As I stand Mags joins me and slips her hand into mine then Sorely and Paddy stand on either side of us. None of us say a thing. There is nothing we can say anymore. As we watch the ant-like hoards storm the streets I whisper a silent prayer. 'Just let her be alright. Please, just let her be alright.'


	127. Chapter 127

**AN- as you have probably guessed the next few chapters are about the Seventy-fifth Hunger Games. As always I have tried to keep the content original but considering the amount of time that Finnick spends with Katniss during the Games this is a lot harder than it has been in other sections of the book. I hope it is still enjoyable reading it from another point of view. **

* * *

><p>"Ladies and Gentlemen let the Seventy-fifth Hunger Games begin!"<p>

I look round. Water! Thank you Plutarch. The Cornucopia sits on what looks like a small island which means that anyone who is going to get to the supplies is going to have swim for them. At least that should buy me some time.

I look round at the other tributes trying to locate Mags, Katniss and Peeta. I can't see Katniss so I assume she must be round the other side of the Cornucopia but Peeta stands a few tributes to my right and Mags is at a quarter turn to my right. I have two options; first try and help them reach the Cornucopia so we can all get there together or gather up some supplies myself, then help them afterwards, using my swimming advantage before the tributes from District 1 and 2 can reach the weapons and open fire on us. My mind is made up pretty quickly.

When the gong sounds I dive into the water and rush straight for the Cornucopia. The water is warm and salted and reminds me of home. Where I pull myself up onto land I am close to the side of the horn but it looks as though all the supplies are closer to the mouth so I skirt round the edge, keeping below the lip and watching out for other tributes.

I am surprised to find Katniss already prising a golden bow out of the pile. I inch towards her and wrap my fingers round a trident before she can notice me. I didn't think this moment would come this fast and yet it is here. I have to convince her I am on her side. I hope this bangle does its job. I edge a little closer, scooping up a conveniently placed net. I begin to feel a little better. Someone certainly had me in mind when they created this place, unlike when i was in the arena before. I keep going until I am within a few metres of Katniss, seeing how long I can draw it out before she notices but I only manage one more step before she turns.

I smile, trying to look relaxed, knowing that if she doesn't believe me, technically the plan has failed and I will have no choice but to leave her unprotected and, worse, potentially face a grim death at the hand of those deadly arrows. If only there was a way I could explain to her. If only there was a way to make her see without alerting the whole of Panem to the plan.

I try to keep it cool. "You can swim too. Where did you learn that in District Twelve?"

"We have a big bathtub."

"You must. " Cute but this is not really the time for chitchat. "You like the arena?"

"Not particularly, but you should. They must have built it especially for you." Sounds like the Mockingjay is a little sour. If this arena was built with me in mind it was only so I would be best equipped to help her. Or maybe it is a throwback to all those years ago when the Praetorians wanted me to be their saviour. How long have they been planning this place?

I can see her sizing me up, trying to figure out what she is meant to do. This is the moment to establish my intentions. "Lucky thing we're allies. Right?"

I can see her tense. I am pretty sure the arrow is going to fly straight into my heart and my trident arm raises on reflex when suddenly she holds back. The bangle. As I raised my arm it must have caught the light. Maybe it is good for something, after all.

Footsteps approach. Is it going to work? Now is the turning point. Now or never.

"Right!" she snaps, a little angrier than expected.

I sense she is about to say something else, but Isaac- the victor from District 5, who has a drinking problem worse than Haymitch, approaches, his hand grabbing a pair of throwing knives.

"Duck!" I yell and I don't wait for her to register it before I throw my trident over her head. It impales Isaac in the chest, just before he finishes taking aim with the knives. He sinks to his knees and, just like that, I'm a killer again.

I rush across to grab my trident and yank it from his chest. "Don't trust One and Two." I tell her.

She nods, accepting it. I don't suppose she has much choice, though.

"Each take one side?" she suggests and we separate.

I look around but all I can see are weapons. Not a single piece of food or water let alone other supplies. It is certainly going to be easy for them to send us the bread- no one is going to question a mentor supplying sustenance with only these supplies. "Anything useful?" I call to Katniss.

"Weapons! Nothing but weapons!"

"Same here. Grab what you want and let's go."

I hear her arrows whipping through the air as I head back round to the mouth of the Cornucopia. Brutus is heading towards us.

"Do something about that, would you?" Her arrows are much better suited to this range than my trident. If I throw it now I will have to find another weapon or struggle to get it back.

Katniss fires an arrow at him but he uses his belt as a shield. It explodes in his face, buying us a bit a bit of time but I expect the others are still advancing.

"Let's clear out." She shouts. She looks towards Peeta and I can already see what she is planning to do before she does it. She starts pulling the knives out her belt but I place my hand on her shoulder, stopping her.

"I'll get him."

"I can."

I can tell she doesn't trust me. But I need to do this for the sake of the alliance. If I show her I can be trusted with Peeta maybe she will start trusting me the rest of the time. I can tell she has made up her mind, though and I am going to have to think of a way to convince her that she can't argue with. I drop all my weapons to the ground but still I know she isn't buying it. Then, like a bolt of lightning, it comes to me. "Better not exert yourself. Not in your condition." It is within her interest to keep up that ruse. Surely she won't drop it now. She hates it but I see her give in to it. "Cover me."

I dive again into the water and propel myself towards Peeta. When I clamber up onto his plate Peeta shows no sign of resistance.

"I thought I would deliver you to your fine lady," I tell him. Peeta glances across to the Cornucopia where he can clearly see Katniss waiting for him and gives himself up to me. We both get into the water and I grip him round the chest so I can tow him to land.

He pulls himself up onto the bank and while they have their reconciliation I gather up my trident and net, preparing to move out again then I double back on myself and pick up another two tridents. I had better make the most of the supplies available. If i lose one it certainly doesn't hurt to have a spare.

"Remind me, did we make any deals with anyone else?" Peeta asks.

"Only Mags, I think."

"Well I can't leave Mags behind. She's one of the few people who actually likes me."

"I've got no problem with Mags. Especially now I see the arena. Her fishhooks are probably our best chance of getting a meal."

"Katniss wanted her on the first day."

"Katniss has remarkably good judgement." Mags has reached us now so I reach into the water and scoop her out. She may be like a fish in the water but clambering to land probably won't be so easy. Without her walking stick she is going to struggle to walk, particularly at the sort of speed that we need to travel at.

"The belts make you bob in the water," Mags points out. I look out again and see that Beetee is making his way towards the Cornucopia using the belt like a float.

"Look, she's right. Someone figured it out."

"What?"

"The belts they're floatation devices. I mean you have to propel yourself but they'll keep you from drowning."

I consider waiting for Beetee to join us but that isn't part of the plan and I already have three people to look out for without another to add to the burden. No, it would be better if we head off now before we get drawn too much into the bloodbath.

Katniss passes Peeta some weapons and Mags asks her for her awl but she doesn't seem to understand. However, eventually she gives it up and I hoist Mags and my net over my shoulder and the four of us run from the Cornucopia.

The air is so close and I am sweating a lot. I wish we could rest but I know we have to get as far away from the bloodbath as we can. I keep going until Mags tells me that she can hold on no longer and I gently lower her to the ground.

As we rest Katniss climbs a tree, hoping to get a better view of the Cornucopia.

I try my best to cool down but without any water there isn't a whole lot I can do. I look up at Katniss. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what she can see up there. Blood. Death. The usual bloodbath. She is no doubt realising that our show of holding hands last night was just that- a show. She has already seen me kill Isaac. No doubt she will start to put two and two together and will begin doubting me again.

As I see her descend I scramble to my feet and hold my trident, ready to defend myself if need be. "What's going on down there, Katniss? Have they all joined hands? Taken a vow of non-violence? Tossed the weapons in the sea in defiance of the Capitol?"

"No."

"No. Because whatever happened in the past is in the past. And no one in this arena was a victor by chance… Except maybe Peeta."

As I mention Peeta her gaze softens slightly but she still holds it, still sizes me up. Neither of us dare change our position. It could only take the smallest of wrong moves for the whole plan to disintegrate around me.

The tension is only broken once Peeta steps between us. "So how many are dead?"

"Hard to say, at least six, I think. And they're still fighting."

"Let's keep moving. We need water."

"Better find some soon. We need to be undercover when the other come hunting us tonight."

And the four of us set off again. It is worse this time. Mags, as light as she is, feels heavier as my dry throat begins to close up slightly.

As we continue our trek the trees begin to end and it looks as though we are reaching the top of the hill. I pause, struggling to keep my breathing steady.

"Maybe we will have more luck on the other side. Find a spring or something." Katniss suggests as she comes to a halt behind me.

Maybe Peeta didn't hear that we have stopped- I dunno- even if he did, though, he keeps on walking up ahead, using his knife to slash at the vines. Suddenly there is a zapping sound, He flies back into me and he, Mags and I all topple to the ground.

"Peeta?" Katniss rushes forwards.

I check Mags is alright then look across to Peeta. Katniss has her ear pressed against his chest. I can tell by the look on her face that she hears nothing.

"Peeta!" she shakes him, slaps him, but nothing happens. "Peeta!"

Swiftly I prop Mags up against a tree and shove Katniss out the way. "Let me."

I go into autopilot. It is what I have done a thousand times before at home when half-drowned men are pulled onto boats or were washed up on beaches. Maybe it won't work but then again, maybe it will be enough.

"No!" Katniss throws herself at me, trying to force me to let go but I hold my ground. There is no time to explain. When she comes at me a second time I think she is never going to give me enough space to save him so I swot her away , harder than I intended, and she flies back against a tree.

I press my mouth against his and blow air into his lungs. If he can't breathe for himself then I'll have to do it for him. I hear Haymitch's words circling round my head_. If you lose Peeta, you will lose Katniss too. _I undo his jumpsuit and begin the rhythmic pumping on his chest, just as they taught us to do back at school.

It takes a while. Too long. I think he is lost but I keep going. I keep going because I know I have to. He has to come back. It is only the first day in the arena it can't all be over yet. I am going to save him and I am going to get back home and we are all going to be safe. Come on, Peeta. Come on… please…

And finally he sits up. Coughs, suddenly very much alive.

"Peeta?"Katniss rushes to him, brushes his hair out of his eyes, cradles him in her arms.

"Careful. There is a force field up ahead."

She laughs weakly- hysterical but tears are streaming down her face.

"Must be a lot stronger than the one on the Training Centre roof. I'm alright, though. Just a little shaken."

"You were dead! Your heart stopped!" she begins choking, gagging, as if the words are bile in her mouth. She tries to hold back the sobs but it just makes it worse.

"Well it seems to be working now. It's all right Katniss." More sobbing. Inconsolable. "Katniss?"

"It's OK. It's just her hormones. From the baby," I pant. Someone has to say something to excuse the girl. She is a state.

"No it's not-" but even her protestations are drowned in sobs.

Her eyes meet mine and I am amazed because what I see is not a girl who is acting for the cameras or is worried for a friend. What I see is as intense as my own fears for Annie. It is then that it truly hits me- this is not an act- not for either of them but the worst thing is that she might not even know that.


	128. Chapter 128

Now everything has calmed down again, Peeta is still very much alive and Katniss' sobs have dulled to sniffs, I remember her warning cry, just before Peeta's knife hit the force field. "You knew that force field was there, didn't you? Right at the last second? You started to give a warning. How did you know?"

She hesitates, instantly making me distrust her answer. It's the kind of pause someone creates when they need time to create a plausible lie. "I don't know. It's almost as if I could hear it. Listen."

I try. The four of us stand completely still. Only the constant squawking and buzzing of the jungle can be heard, though.

"I don't hear anything." Peeta says. I have to say I agree with him.

"Yes. It's like when the fence around District Twelve is on, only much, much, quieter." She feigns listening. "There! Can't you hear it? It's coming from right where Peeta got shocked."

"I don't hear it either. But if you do, by all means, take the lead." Although she is not telling the truth the fact that she knows where the force field intercepts the jungle is more important than how she knows. Perhaps it will prevent more accidents from happening.

"That's weird. I can only hear it out of my left ear."

"The one the doctors reconstructed?" Peeta is obviously lapping it all up.

"Yeah. Maybe they did a better job than they thought. You know, sometimes I do hear funny things on that side. Things you wouldn't ordinarily think have a sound. Like insect wings. Or snow hitting the ground."

We need to stop discussing it and get moving before the others catch up with us. Mags is obviously of the same mind because she nudges Katniss and very pointedly says, "You."

Katniss is pushed to the front again. I go to pick Mags up again but she points across the floor to a fallen branch. I pick it up, tear away some of the excess twigs and test it on the ground. It seems solid enough so I hand it over to her and with its help she is able make slow progress on her own.

We go a few steps down the line and I notice how Peeta also struggles. Prosthetic leg? The electric shock? It's hard to tell but it could do without worrying about it. A few paces into the jungle there is another branch- slighter taller than Mags' cane and I pass it to him.

"Thought you might want a staff."

"I'm fine," he tries to tell me but I push the staff into his hands.

"Better you have that then I have to carry you later."

That makes him agree to it and his walking becomes a little easier.

Katniss leads the way, Mags and Peeta hobble along in the middle and I take up the rear, my ears constantly straining in case someone tries to sneak up behind.

Katniss starts zapping some nuts on the force field, throwing them ahead of her just to make sure her senses are telling her right. They sizzle, smoke and fall to the ground, blackened and cooked.

I hear a distant yell but I can't tell who it is. I hope it is not Johanna. I don't know what job they have given her but I hope it doesn't put her in too much danger.

"Mags!" Katniss calls out. Spit that out. It could be poisonous." Looks like Mags has started eating some of the nuts.

"its fine," Mags mumbles, waving her hand dismissively. Katniss looks to me, desperate for me to talk some reason into her but if Mags wants to eat some nuts then she can. She probably knows what they are, anyway.

I laugh to try and lighten the mood. "I guess we'll find out."

We keep going as we did before until Peeta looks so pale he might pass out and Mags is grumbling about her knees under her breath.

"Let's take another break. I need to get another look from above."

As Katniss shimmies up a tree again I help Mags to sit comfortably on the ground.

"Stop your fussing," she says. But her legs are sore and swollen. I gently rub them, hoping to help but there isn't a whole lot I can do. Ideally we would soak them in warm water but considering we haven't seen a drop since we left the Cornucopia it doesn't exactly seem likely.

"The force field has us trapped in a circle. A dome really. I don't know how high it goes. There's the Cornucopia, the sea, and then the jungle all around. Very exact. Very symmetrical. And not very large." Katniss tells us when she lands.

"Did you see any water?" I ask.

"Only the salt water where we started the Games."

"There must be some other source or we'll all be dead in a matter of days." Peeta frowns.

"Well, the foliage is thick. Maybe there are ponds or springs somewhere. At any rate, there's no point in trying to find out what's over the edge of this hill, because the answer is nothing."

"There must be drinkable water between the force field and the wheel."

Of course this means heading back down the hill, back to the Cornucopia where the bloodbath is probably still rearing its ugly head.

I look at Mags' legs and Peeta's sweaty brow. There is no way we can face the others in this state. "It's just not practical."

"Maybe if we keep making our way round we will come across something," Katniss says, obviously seeing the same problem that I did.

We head down the hill a few hundred metres then continue our journey but after another few hours it is obvious how futile our attempts are. We have no choice but to stop before Peeta and Mags drop like flies.

"We have to set up camp." I call to Katniss. "If we go nearer the force field we will be able to use it as a weapon by deflecting enemies into it, if attacked."

The temptation is, once sat down, to do nothing- to try and conserve some energy, to try and recover from this morning's exertions but although I am so hot and my throat is so dry my muscles are alive. I can't sit still. Something inside me just won't allow me to let things go. I have to keep busy, keep useful.

I rip up some of the blades of long grass and me and Mags weave them into mats. Just like tying knots, this calms me. As long as my hands keep busy then my mind doesn't start to take over and the worry won't overwhelm me. Thinking is definitely the last thing I want to do.

Katniss is clearly as restless as me as she says, "Finnick, why don't you stand guard and I'll hunt around some more for water."

"I'm not sure it's a good idea for you to go off alone." I say. I can't really afford to let her out of my sight. She may be good with her bow and arrow but I have a job to do.

"Don't worry, I won't go far."

"I'll go too." Peeta pipes up. Great. Just what I need; for both of them to disappear off into the forest. Get them alone together and there is always a chance that they will walk. You can't guarantee trust in the Games, even amongst allies.

"No, I'm going to do some hunting if I can. I won't be long."

So she goes. Peeta has a lost sort of expression on his face as if he is unsure what to do now. I suspect part of him wants to rush after her, despite her protestations.

"Don't worry, Peeta, it will be OK. Why don't you gather some more nuts?"

He sets to work and Mags and I continue to weave our mats so we can form a shelter. I keep my trident resting across my lap, just in case anyone comes. But everything remains silent.

That is until the first Cannon blasts the air. Silently I count them. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight… I force my hands to keep weaving, to keep focused on the mats. It is worse not knowing for whom the cannon sounds but I have no way of finding out until they play the anthem tonight.

As Mags continues weaving I start to secure the mats, looping bits of the long grass around the trees so they hang like walls. I doubt we will stay here for very long but this is more about feeling useful than creating a permanent residence.

Once we finish the hut I can't help but notice how Peeta keeps looking off into the trees, searching for Katniss. It is hard to look at him and I am relieved when she does return.

_Please say you have found water, _I inwardly beg.

"No. no water. It's out there, though. He knew where it was." She holds up this big rat-like thing already gutted and skinned. I can't tell exactly what it is. "He's been drinking recently when I shot him out of a tree, but I couldn't find his source. I swear, I covered every centimetre of ground in a thirty-metre radius."

"Can we eat him?" Peeta asks. And suddenly I realise just how hungry I am as well.

"I don't know for sure, but his meat doesn't look that different from a squirrel's. He ought to be cooked…"

Great idea, Katniss, starting a fire to show everyone exactly where we are. Now the bloodbath is over they will be coming for us. No doubt about it.

Peeta kneels down and cuts away a bit of the rodent and skewers it on the end of a stick. He then lets it fall into the force field. The result- cooked meat. Genius.

Spontaneously we all break into applause. It last around thirty seconds before we remember the need to remain silent.

Soon enough the rest of the meat is prepared and the four of us tuck in to our make-shift feast. As we eat I can't help but think about water. Food is one thing but it is nothing without something cool and wet to wash it down with. I remember what Katniss said about ithe rat's nose being wet. Surely that has got to give us some sort of clue to where we can find water.

"How high in the tree was it?" I ask her.

"About eye-level, close to the trunk." That doesn't exactly sound like the natural place to find water, maybe it had been somewhere else before.

"How long did you watch it for?"

"Not long. Just enough to get it in range."

"What was it doing?"

"I don't know, just clinging to the branches. Probably looking for insects" I sense annoyance in her voice so I quit asking so many questions.

It must have taken some time to get up the tree, though, which meant that water has to be nearby otherwise it would have dried out in the sun and she wouldn't have seen it on its snout. Dried out... Kind of like us right now- I feel as shrivelled and dry as an old prune. If I don't have something to drink soon I am going to look as old as Mags.

I don't know if it is relief or apprehension I feel when the anthem finally plays. Isaac is the first to appear. Followed by Aran from Six, Cecelia and Woof from Eight are next. That means Johanna is still alive. Then Barric and Zea from Nine, Laurie from Ten and Seeder from Eleven.

My chest momentarily tightens as the final bars of music begin to fade out. Silence. My hands feel uncomfortably empty. I wait for someone else to speak, hoping someone will drown out the snippets of thoughts and memories which run through my head as I think of the fallen.

Thankfully a silver parachute falls from the sky and drops gently down in front of us.

"Whose is it, do you think?" Katniss finally asks.

"No telling," I say, making a considerable effort to keep my voice steady. "Why don't we let Peeta claim it, since he died today?"

Without commenting, Peeta unties the cord to reveal a small metal object.

"What is it?"

It is like nothing I have ever seen before. Tubular. Hollow. Like a piece of pipe with a spout at one end. We pass it around the circle. Peeta obviously thinks it is a sort of instrument as he blows into it. It makes no sound, though. Once it is passed to me I turn it over in my hands but the only thing it is good for is slipping onto my smallest finger and once there I would hardly call it useful.

"Can you fish with it, Mags?"

Mags shakes her head.

Katniss turns it over and over in her hands, but it is pointless and she jams it down into the ground. "I give up. Maybe if we hook up with Beetee or Wiress they can figure it out."

The silence returns. Maybe the parachute was just a distraction; something to take our mind off everything else. I had expected bread. I wonder whose great idea this was- probably Paddy's he would be wetting himself seeing the four of us puzzle over the thing, thinking it is something important when really it is nothing but a piece of pipe.

"A spile!"Katniss suddenly exclaims.

"What?"

She pulls it out the ground and holds it up to the light. "It's a spile. Sort of like a tap. You put it in a tree and sap comes out. Well, the right sort of tree."

I am completely lost by this explanation. "Sap?"

"To make syrup. But there must be something else inside these trees."

We rush for the nearest tree, desperate to prove this theory right. I take the spile from Katniss and line it up against the trunk. I grab a stone from the ground to use as a hammer and am juts about to start hammering the spile into the tree when she stops me.

"Wait. You might damage it. We need to drill a hole first."

I move out of the way. Mags offers up her awl and Peeta drives it into the bark, creating a hole big enough for the spile. When he begins to tire I take over and between us we manage to make the hole big enough and Katniss wedges the spile into the trunk.

Waiting. Expecting. Hoping.

Finally a single drop of water falls out the spout. Mags catches it in her palm, licks it up then holds out her hand for more. Water. Actual water.

I move the spile around, hoping to burst through a bit more of the bark to allow some more water to flow and eventually we have a steady stream which we lap up like dogs until Mags brings over a basket.

Water only feels like a luxury after you have had none for a day. It is so hot in the jungle that we are pouring it over ourselves, slurping up each and every drop. And finally, once thirst no longer plagues us, we rest.

I go on the first watch. Partway through a bell peels out across the arena, waking Katniss. We count twelve tolls in total but don't know what it means.

"Go to sleep, Finnick. It's my turn to watch anyway."

I don't want to sleep. I am meant to be watching over Katniss and Peeta and it is hard to do that while sleeping. However, on the other hand, I will find it hard to guard them tomorrow if I don't have my rest so I give in to it.


	129. Chapter 129

"Run. Run!" Katniss screams and before I even have time to think I am on my feet and I have hauled Mags across my shoulder and I am running, as fast as I can, although I don't know why. It could be the Careers, mutts, a flood, fireballs, a team of peacekeepers come to tear us to shreds, it doesn't matter. In the arena if someone says run, you run.

When I glance behind me I see a pearly white fog rolling across the ground. Katniss and Peeta are struggling. Peeta especially is lagging behind. The fog closes in on them and it looks like it is going to swallow them up. I stop. I can't just leave them behind. I promised Haymitch I would keep them alive so I guess that's what I have to do.

"Come on!" I call to them. "You can do it. Just keep moving!"

The fog starts to overwhelm them as Peeta crashes to the ground, his leg catching on a clump of vines. I put Mags down, there is still time until the fog will reach her, then I run as fast as I can back to meet Katniss and Peeta.

I grab Peeta and begin to pull him along; his face has begun to droop, like Mags' did after her stroke and his legs spasm. Katniss takes hold of him on the other side and I drag both of them as fast as I can. We have to get out of here. We have to. Whatever that fog is it isn't good. When we catch up with her, I throw Mags over my shoulder again and continue the relentless pace. We put about a hundred metres between us and the fog but Peeta is nothing more than a dead weight.

"It's no good. I'll have to carry him. Can you take Mags?"

"Yes." She replies. I am already placing Mags on the ground and slinging Peeta across my back. He is heavier than Mags but it makes no difference. Adrenaline will keep me going. I fly as fast as I can, I jump over fallen logs and pull my feet free from twisted vines that try to trip us up at every interval.

I head towards the water. I may be wrong but something tells me that if we can just reach the water then everything will be alright. Maybe we could dive beneath the surface and the fog will just wash over us or maybe it won't be able to travel over water. The fog is like acid. Hopefully it will wash it away... or maybe it is just because my basic instinct in any situation is just to reach water. Either way something drives me towards it.

Katniss starts to falter, struggling under Mags' weight, her legs flailing wildly beneath her. But she tries, it almost hurts how much she tries. The sheer desperation on her face as she fights to keep going. She keeps tumbling, Mags fallis heavily on top of her but each time she gets up again, dragging herself upwards, using the trunks of trees for support. Forcing herself to keep going. I hold back a second, allowing her to catch up but soon she is moving so slowly that I have to double back.

My arms go limp, spasm, I struggle to keep hold of Peeta. It is as if my arms are no longer my own and all strength is gone from them. They burn like chemicals; my skin feels like it is falling away, peeling as if it's been sunburnt. I won't be able to carry on much further. But I have to, we have to. We have to keep going until we reach the water.

I want to drag Katniss with me but my arms stiffen around Peeta in a tight spasm and I can't move them. The sinister fog grows ever closer. Katniss falls to the ground again and Mags rolls off her back. Katniss struggles so get to her feet.

"It's no use. Can you take them both?" she says. "Go on ahead, I'll catch up."

Realisation sinks in. it can only take less than a minute but it feels like an age. My thoughts rush to find an answer- to discover a way for me to carry both of them but the pain in my arms is too much and I know I can only save one of them. It is so tempting to pick up Mags and run. It is so tempting to leave them both behind but I made a promise. Mags made a promise and it is bigger than either of us.

"No. I can't carry them both. My arms aren't working." I turn to Mags. "I'm sorry Mags. I can't do it."

My voice threatens to break on the last word but Mags pulls herself to her feet, looks me squarely in the eye and kisses me. My sobs choke in her mouth but she smooths my hair before she lets me go.

As I watch her walk into the fog I no longer feel the pain of my injuries because it is nothing to the pain in my heart. Her frail body is pulled around like a misused puppet until she falls to the ground and the cannon tells me she is gone…. Gone.

I can't stay here. I can't look anymore. I throw Peeta back onto my back and I start to run. I imagine myself running all the way out of the arena. All the way back to District Four- back to Annie. Back to the sea. Back to my safe little house near the main square where I lived before any of this. Where my parents will great me and tuck me in at night and tell me stories and remind me that I can do anything.

"Finnick?" Katniss calls after me but I can't look back. I know she will be alright. I have no choice but to keep on running. My legs don't work but run like broken machines in a repeated motion, punching out the same steps in their assembly line. One step at a time. One step further away, one step closer. I am no longer a person. The fog is turning me to metal and wood- useless, unyielding.

When I finally collapse to the ground I have nothing left in me to get up. Katniss falls on top of us and I lay at the bottom of the pile of three, glad my face is hidden from them. Glad they don't have to see me as I lay here dying.

As the weight lessens on my back I let out a groan. Not dead.

Katniss croaks something I can't make out. "It's stopped."

I turn my head and see the fog as it rises upwards, until not a wisp remains.

Peeta crawls off me and I roll onto my back, staring up into the sky. Gasping, twitching, aching, I can't move. This is surely the closest anyone can be to dead without dying.

"Mon-hees."

They watch them a while. I close my eyes and don't open them again until Peeta begins to crawl down the slope towards the water. Katniss follows soon after and I muster what little strength I have left to trail behind. We go right down to the edge of the water but it burns the skin so I recoil as the others face the torture. I can't do it. I can't face another second of it.

Unaware of my resignation Katniss gathers handfuls of the water and pours it on to me. Fog rises from my body, sizzling. Then Peeta is helping too, cutting away at my jumpsuit and pouring more water all over me. I keep my eyes closed, afraid if I open them I will no longer be able to keep everything inside of me.

I let them get on with it, moaning as the salt rubs into my wounds. I don't acknowledge them. I don't want their help. They whisper to one another but I don't listen. They drag me along the sands, pushing my feet into the water, then my calves, and my knees. Agony.

But slowly, the more water they pour on me the less it hurts. I open my eyes. Most of my body is now submerged, my head rests in Katniss' lap. I stay there, perfectly still, until the weight that was in my arms starts to lesson and my metal limbs become flesh again.

"There's just your head left, Finnick. That's the worst part, but you'll feel much better after, if you can bear it."

They help me sit up then I use some shells to pour water over my face. I can't speak to thank them but just continue scooping the water and letting it fall over me.

"I'm going to try to tap a tree," Katniss says. Part of me knows that I should object, that I should tell her to stay here with me so I can look after her but the words won't come.

"Let me make the hole first. You stay with him. You're the healer."

Katniss gives me some space. I slowly lower myself further into the water. At first I just stand there, letting it swirl around me. Then, bit by bit. I begin to test my arms and legs. With each movement they feel stronger. I kick off from the ground and begin a slow, steady stroke. I close my eyes and I can almost believe I am back home. Growing in confidence, I roll in the water and duck and dive, letting it cover every inch of me, letting it revive me. I burst up through the surface momentarily then dive under again. This time I swim right to the bottom and propel myself along the ground. Somehow, despite everything, normality has returned. I hold my breath as long as I can. I never want to surface again. Maybe I can just hide here for the rest of the Games. But, inevitably my lungs begin to lose oxygen and I am forced to charge back to the surface.

"Don't do that." Katniss is stood just out the water directly in front of me. I get the impression she had been staring into the depths, hoping to see me. Probably scared I drowned.

"What? Come up or stay under?"

"Either. Neither. Whatever. Just soak in the water and behave. Or if you feel this good, let's go help Peeta."

As we approach the edge of the jungle Katniss touches my arm. I look up to where she is looking and see monkeys everywhere- on every tree, on every branch, everywhere we look there are monkeys. I adjust my trident in my hand. These are going to need taking care of.

"Peeta. I need your help with something."

"OK, just a minute. I think I've just about got it. Yes, there. Have you got the spile?"

"I do. But we've found something you'd better take a look at. Only move towards us quietly so you don't startle it."

"OK." As Peeta comes towards us we hold our breath, watching the monkeys, waiting for them to attack. At first it looks as though things are going to be OK but as soon as Peeta makes the slightest glance upwards they burst into action.

"Mutts!"

I spear the monkeys and fling them to the left and right but they just keep coming at us. Their claws and teeth run all over my body, ripping at my clothes and pulling at my hair. The three of us retreat together so we stand back to back, fighting them off on every side.

"Peeta! Your arrows!"

I take down another monkey, slamming it to the ground, using my foot to free my trident. I am suddenly aware of Katniss running towards Peeta. I turn just as Cassidy; the tribute from District 6. throws herself between Peeta and a charging monkey. The mutt digs it's fangs into her chest. Peeta rips it off her, slamming his knife into the creature's back.

"Come on, then! Come on!"

I have stopped fighting and I wonder why I am no longer being attacked but the monkeys are beginning to retreat into the trees. I guess they have done their job.

"Get her, we'll cover you." Katniss tells Peeta and he carries Cassidy back to the beach and lays her down on the sand.

I look at the puncture wounds on her chest. There is no way she is going to make it. "I'll watch the trees." I say, using it as an excuse to walk away. I can't watch someone else die. Not right now.

Cautiously I head back towards the trees where we fought the monkeys. I look around for any sign of them but they are completely gone. All that is left are vines and empty trees. I busy myself gathering up Katniss' spent arrows. They are still thick with blood and torn skin but I don't try to clean them.

I wait until I hear the cannon, then the hovercraft, when I know the coast is clear, then I head back to the beach.

"Thought you might need these" I drop the arrows down beside her on the sand. I don't ask about Cassidy. I already know.

"Thanks."

"Where did they go?" I know she means the monkeys.

"We don't know exactly. The vines shifted and they were gone."

Now the action is over I begin to notice how much my face itches. The wounds have scabbed over but they are irritating my face.

"Don't scratch. You'll only bring infection." Katniss- 'the healer' as Peeta called her- advises. "Think it's safe to try for the water again?" We tap the tree and shower in the water; we gather it up in shells and carry it back to the beach.

"Why don't you two get some rest? I'll watch for a while." Katniss says but as soon as the words leave her lips I know I can't face sleep. Not right now, anyway.

"No, Katniss, I'd rather." Besides, I need to watch out for them. I need to make sure…

"All right, Finnick thanks." Katniss and Peeta lie down on the sand and I move a small way up the beach.

I am glad it is dark. I am glad when their breathing turns heavy and I know they are no longer listening.

I still can't believe that Mags is gone. It just doesn't make sense. If I go back home surely she will still be waiting for me? I try to push away those final moments. I try to forget, yet at the same time I am terrified I won't remember.

She believed in this. More than I did. She agreed to help without a moment's hesitation. She might have been old. She might have lived a long life but that doesn't make her sacrifice any less. I had to choose between the revolution and one of the people who means the most to me in the entire world. And I chose the revolution.

It must be the right thing to do. It is what professors and idealists and heroes would tell you to do but now I am here and I already miss her.

I don't fight the tears. Let them know how much I loved her. Let them know how much she meant to me. I don't care. She is not just another tribute, another victor in their Games.

Silently I walk towards the forest, one eye still on Katniss and Peeta as they sleep, and I pull up some more strips of the long grass. I work as I cry and I cry as I work and I try to remember all the things she taught me, all the times she helped me out and made things better. I try to remember every precious moment we had together and I try to remind myself why this is worthwhile.

By morning I have two new bowls full of shellfish and no more time left to mourn.


	130. Chapter 130

Katniss receives another parachute, this time containing ointment. She puts it on over her scaly, scabby skin, painting it a strange greenish grey. I hope it is making things feel better because it makes them look about a hundred times worse.

"It's like you're decomposing," I tell her but the itching is so bad that I have no choice but to follow her example and smear the ointment over my skin as well.

"Poor Finnick, is this the first time in your life you haven't looked pretty?" she teases me.

"It must be. The sensation is completely new. How have you managed it all these years?"

"Just avoid mirrors. You'll forget about it."

"Not if I keep looking at you."

We continue covering every inch of ourselves with the stuff. She spreads it across my back and I do the same for her. We start to look like mutts- inhuman mud-monsters- I don't know what- but the effects are almost immediate. The itching cools and I am beginning to feel normal again.

"I'm going to wake Peeta." Katniss says, moving towards him.

"No wait. Let's do it together. Put our faces right in front of his."

We kneel down, leaning right over him to make sure that the first thing he sees when he wakes up will be our monstrous faces, then Katniss gently shakes him awake.

"Peeta. Peeta, wake up."

He jumps into the air and we are forced to fall backward to stop bashing heads with him. "Aa!"

It is too much for Katniss and me. We burst into ridiculous laughter, unable to control ourselves, although I try. Yet every time I manage to contain it I look at Peeta who is trying very hard to look disdainful, or I look at Katniss who is doing a worse job than me at containing her mirth and I burst out laughing again.

We only stop when a second parachute falls from the sky. Landing just a few inches from me. I open it up and find what I had been expecting- bread. It is from District 4 so we will be rescued on the fourth day but there is only a single loaf so I assume that means it will be one o'clock.

"This will go well with the shellfish," I say, hoping that Katniss and Peeta didn't notice how carefully I inspected it.

As Katniss helps Peeta with the ointment I prepare the rest of the food, making sure the shellfish is clean enough to eat, rinsing it off with a shell full of the water we tapped from the tree. It is nice when we all sit down together to eat. It is so easy to forget how hungry I am when so much is happening.

A cannon fires and the hovercraft looms overhead. My stomach tightens. Another name off the list. Someone else that even Plutarch won't be able to save.

"There." Katniss suddenly says, pointing towards three figures who are just reaching the edge of the beach.

I squint trying to get a better look but it is difficult to make our their features from this distance.

"Who is that? Or what? Muttations?"

We watch as one of the three drags another. When the weak creature falls to the ground the dragger stamps their feet in frustration I suddenly know who I am looking at.

"Johanna!" I scramble to my feet and run towards her.

"Finnick!" She calls back. I am impressed she is able to recognise me under the ointment but I don't care. I am so happy to see her, so happy that one person is still with me.

We don't greet each other but simply rush at each other and Johanna instantly starts talking. "You should avoid the trees over there." She points vaguely in the direction she came from."A Gamemaker's trap. We heard falling droplet. We thought it was rain, you know, because of the lightning, and we were all so thirsty. But when it started coming down, it turned out to be blood. Thick, hot, blood. You couldn't see, you couldn't speak without getting a mouthful. We just staggered around, trying to get out of it. That's when Blight hit the force field. "

"I'm sorry, Johanna," I can't think of anything else to say. I want to tell her about Mags but the words won't come.

"Yeah, well. He wasn't much but he was from home. And he left me alone with these two. He got a knife in the back at the Cornucopia. And her-"

Wiress is circling nearby, covered in blood. "Tick, tock. Tick, tock."

"Yeah, we know. Tick, tock. Nuts is in shock." Johanna pushes her to the ground. I recognise her old defence mechanism. This is the only way she can cope with losing Blight; meanness. "Just stay down will you?"

"Lay off her." Katniss snaps.

I can already see the sparks that will fly between these two. Johanna is too worked up. Katniss can't stand to see Johanna's misplaced cruelty. I ready myself to intervene.

"Lay off her?" Johanna says, moving in for the verbal kill. "Who do you think got them out of that bleeding jungle for you? You-"I scoop her in my arms and dangle her over my shoulder. She needs to cool off. If she keeps ranting like this she will give it all away. She will tell Katniss and Peeta the plan- tell the whole world the plan and it will all become for nothing.

I dunk her in the water, ignoring her screams.

"I ought to-"

I dunk her again.

"Just because you're the-"

And again.

"Ignorant bitch!"

I keep going until all her insults are spent, until there is nothing left for her to say. Then finally I set her back on her feet again.

"You know it's not her fault, don't you?"

"She's the reason we're here. It was trying to save those freaks that Blight died." She gestures up the beach to Beetee and Wiress.

I give her a warning look, trying to tell her that she mustn't say too much. "At least we're together now," I say, a little lamely, although it seems to break her down and coaxes a sort of smile out of her.

She shoves me. "You better get me something to eat."

I lead her back to the others and present her with the bowl of shellfish and a shell of clean water which she digs into, still casting Katniss irritated looks.

"So what happened to you?" Johanna asks through full mouthfuls.

"There was a fog-" Peeta begins but I cut him off, I don't want someone else to tell this story.

"It was over there," I point towards the section of the arena we came from. "It was some sort of poison. Burnt like chemicals. We tried to outrun it but it was pointless. Luckily by the time we reached the beach it went away. We bathed in the water and it seemed to make things better." It sounds flat and unreal but I'm afraid to say more, afraid to let too much slip out and let last night follow me into today.

"We should get some rest," Peeta intervenes before anyone can question my story. For that I am grateful.

"I'll guard." Four of us echo at once but Johanna and Katniss get elected. I suppose I can trust Johanna with my job, if only for a short while. God knows, I could do with some sleep.

I find myself a bit of space and settle down on the beach. Sleep doesn't take long to find me.

"Get up! Get up we have to move!"

Once again I am woken my Katniss' call. I am on my feet and ready to run, convinced the fog is coming back for us but when I look round Katniss isn't running and she gestures for us all to gather round.

"What is it?" I ask.

"The arena is a clock. Wiress figured it all out. As time passes it triggers another one of the Gamemaker's weapons in each arena. If we don't move the fog or the monkeys could attack us again."

We gather up our possessions. I hold my trident in one arm and try and carry some of the food in the other. There isn't much of the bread left so I give it to Wiress who still hasn't eaten since she joined us which means she might not have eaten since she entered the arena.

Peeta attempts to lift Beetee who is still in a bad shape.

"Wire," he says insistently through his delirium.

"She's right here. Wiress is fine. She's coming too." Peeta reassures him.

"Wire," he says again.

"Oh I know what he wants." Johanna huffs. She goes to the other end of the beach and picks up a cylinder, hardly recognisable beneath the thick layer of dried blood which covers it. "This worthless thing. It's some sort of wire or something. That's how he got cut. Running up to the Cornucopia to get this. I don't know what kind of weapon it's supposed to be. I guess you could pull off a piece and use it as a garrotte or something. But really, can you imagine Beetee garrotting anybody?"

The way she makes light of it- pretends she doesn't know how useful it is makes me think it is even more useful- even more important that anyone is willing to let on. Is this all part of the plan as well? Plutarch's way of getting us out of the arena?

"He won his Games with wire. Setting up that electrical trap. It's the best weapon he could have." Peeta points out.

"Seems like you'd have figured that out, since you nicknamed him Volts and all," Katniss adds.

"Yeah, that was really stupid of me, wasn't it? I guess I must have been distracted by keeping your little friends alive. While you were… what again? Getting Mags killed off?"

My chest tightens. Katniss' fingers wrap around her knife. We are in the danger zone again. But I feel as though I have been kicked in the gut. It doesn't matter how many times it is said, it doesn't matter how many times I think it or remind myself I still can't believe that she is gone.

"Go ahead. Try it. I don't care if you are knocked up, I'll rip your throat out."

Somehow I manage to pull my thoughts back together. "Maybe we had all be careful where we step. There's your wire, Volts. Watch where you plug it."

"Where to?"

"I'd like to go to the Cornucopia and watch. Just to make sure we're right about the clock," I say.

No one objects so we head off to the Cornucopia. Once there, Peeta lies Beetee down in the shade. He puts the wire into Wiress' hands. "Clean it, will you?" he asks and Wiress goes to the water's edge, singing softly to herself.

"Oh, not the song again. That went on for hours before she started tick-tocking," Johanna groans. I understand, as clever as Wiress is for working out the arena is a clock it still doesn't change how annoying it is to have every thought punctuated with 'tick-tock'.

"Two." She points towards the wall of fog that curls down towards the beach.

"Yes, look, Wiress is right. It's two o'clock and the fog has started."

"Like clockwork. You were very smart to figure that out, Wiress."

"Oh, she is more than smart. She's intuitive. She can sense things before anyone else. Like a canary in one of your coal mines." Beetee says proudly.

"What's that?" I ask. I have never heard of any birds going down into the mines.

"It's a bird that we take down into the mines to warn us if there's bad air."

"What's it do, die?" Johanna says.

"It stops singing first. That's when you should get out. But if the air's too bad, it dies, yes. And so do you," Katniss explains.

After this we all set to gathering weapons, tending wounds and discussing the clock. Peeta uses his knife to draw a map on the ground and begins talking through what we already know about the arena. It isn't much but from this vantage point we have a pretty good chance of figuring out what is in some of the other sections of the arena. We can also work out which sections to avoid and when.

I focus on getting more tridents. I lost all but one during the episode with the fog and while there is more available it doesn't hurt to have a healthy stock of them, particularly if I want to use them more as a range weapon rather than in hand-to-hand combat.

We start discussing some of the other area of the map when, all at once, we realise aeound us is silence. Wiress has stopped singing.

We turn to her. Gloss looms over Wiress and cuts her throat with her knife. A fraction of a second after Katniss' arrow hits him. I take a trident in each hand and knock away a spear that hurtles through the air towards Peeta, deflecting it just in time.

Enobaria lunges at me. Digging a knife into my thigh. I yell in pain and try to stab her with a trident but she and Brutus duck behind the Cornucopia, preventing any of our weapons from reaching them. Despite the pain in my leg I run towards them. I almost pause mid-step as the cannon boom tells me Wiress is gone but I force myself to keep going. Enobaria and Brutus run for the trees and I am close behind until suddenly the ground trembles and I am thrown onto the sand.

The world spins around us, faster and faster, the trees blur into a mass of dark green, merging with the pink sky. I dig my fingernails into the sand, hoping to stay where I am, hoping I can stop myself flying off into the jungle like a spark from a Catherine Wheel. Until finally, eventually, we stop. Exhausted, panting, we look around.

"Where's volts?"

He bobs on top of the water. Still dizzy from the spinning I stumble off to grab him and haul him back to the beach.

Katniss makes a move towards Wiress but I can't see what she is doing. I lie Beetee down on the beach and check his pulse, his breathing. I am about to give him mouth-to-mouth when he jerkily sits up, spewing a gutful of water out onto his chest.

I sit back in relief and Katniss places the wire in Beetee's hands and he runs it through his fingers. In this distracted movement I see myself- my busy hands weaving nets and bowls- anything to distract from the truth. We all find our ways of coping.

"Let's get off this stinking island," Johanna says, and I can't help but agree.

I rip off my undershirt and tie it around my leg so it can soak up some of the blood. Luckily it's not deep and I can't help but smile as I imagine squealing Capitol women swooning over my bare chest. Ridiculous in a situation like this.

"Do you think you can walk?" Peeta gently asks Beetee and he nods mildly in reply.

"We should head back to the twelve o'clock beach, we should be safer there."

"Right." We all agree and all walk off in opposite directions.

It is pretty clear that none of us know the way. It looks like we are stuck here, at least until we can find our bearings again.


	131. Chapter 131

"I'm going to try and tap a tree," Peeta says.

"No it's my turn." I quickly say. I don't want him going into the jungle alone. Not after last time. We may not be able to see any monkeys right now but that doesn't mean they, or something else, won't jump out at us.

"I'll at least watch your back." He says, a little disgruntled.

"Katniss can do that. We need you to make another map. The other washed away." Johanna says. Yes, maybe that would be better. At least with her bow and arrow Katniss has a better chance of being able to defend us.

Katniss looks hesitant at first but eventually follows me into the jungle. I guess she doesn't completely trust me.

I find a suitable tree and begin to use the knife to form a hole. I don't know what happened to the awl. I guess it got lost somewhere along the way. No sooner than the thought has finished forming the answer comes to me; Mags had it when she walked into the fog.

"Katniss, got that spile?"

She cuts the vine on her belt and hands me the spile.

Someone screams. At first I fear it is Johanna but the voice doesn't belong to her- it is much younger and one I don't recognise.

Suddenly, as if blindly drawn to the cry; like a sailor towards a siren, Katniss runs wildly off into the jungle to hunt down the source of the noise.

"Prim!" She cries out. Her sister. But she couldn't be here. They wouldn't do that. More screams. More frenzied running. I struggle to keep up with her.

"Prim!" She calls again. The twigs snap. Vines curl around my ankles and I lose sight of her. Only her lost voice reaches me through the trees. " Prim?"

The wails echo through the jungle but when I catch up I find Katniss staring up into the branches of the tree at a small, black bird. A Jabberjay. I suddenly, despite the heat, feel cold.

"Katniss?"

"It's OK. I'm OK. I thought I heard my sister but-" she starts to explain but she is cut off by a piercing scream but this time it isn't Prim.

"Annie!"

The sound isn't far away. It is probably another one of the birds but I have to find it. I have to know for sure. I rush off through the trees, ignoring Katniss as she runs after me, just as she ignored me before.

I head uphill, ignoring the sweat that gathers on my brow. I keep going until her cries are right above me- in a large tree. And I can't tell if it is a bird or if it is real because the leaves are so thick and there is nothing to be seen. Wouldn't that be the worst trick they could do? Fool me into thinking it is only a jabberjay when she is really here- really in danger from Brutus and Enobaria and all the others.

"Annie! Annie!"I scream but still I can't find her- all I can hear are her insistent screams. I consider trying to climb the tree. I circle round and round, looking for a good foothold but there are no branches low enough for me to push myself up on.

It is only when the bird falls at my feet, an arrow through its chest, that I am satisfied. I pick up the evil thing and hold it in my hands. What have they done to her? What have they done? Plutarch was meant to keep her safe. She was meant to be alright.

"It's alright, Finnick. It's just a jabberjay. They're playing a trick on us. It's not real. It's not your… Annie." She tries to comfort me but it is no use.

"No, it's not Annie. But the voice was hers. Jabberjays mimic what they hear. Where did they get those screams, Katniss?"

"Oh, Finnick, you don't think they…." She finally understands as well.

"Yes, I do. That's exactly what I think."

"There is nothing we can do." I say but I can tell she isn't listening to me.

Another cry starts up, further away and I can tell she is going to try and track it down but I hold her back. "No, it's not him. We're getting out of here. It's not him Katniss! It's a mutt! Come on!"

She fights against me, still desperate to find the bird, to have her fears confirmed, but I half drag, half carry her away. My heart beating fit to burst. I run as fast as I can though I cannot escape the fear or the dread that comes with hearing those awful sounds screaming from Annie.

I keep running until we smack into a transparent wall and are thrown backwards onto the floor. I fall face first and my nose begins to gush blood down my front. There is a barrier. We are shut off from the rest of them. Unreachable. Unable to be helped.

Birds flock to us and I can hear her voice again. Hear the terrible pain and agony. I can't stand it. I can't bear it but there is nothing I can do. I curl up as small as I can and clamp my hands over my ears. I don't want to hear it. I don't want to think about the terrible things they must have done to her to make her scream like that.

I scream too. I cry- anything to try and drown it out. Any way to try and pass the hour until the torture is over. I don't dare move. I don't dare look up at their spiteful beaks. It is only when Johanna wraps her arms around my shoulders that I even realise it is over.

I don't know what to say. Johanna tries to reassure me but whatever she is saying doesn't quite reach my ears. I remain still until my heart begins to calm again and all I can hear is Peeta's soft voice as he tries to comfort Katniss.

"Katniss, Prim isn't dead. How could they kill Prim? We're almost down to the final eight of us. And what happens then?"

"Seven more of us die."

"No, back home. What happens when they reach the final eight tributes in the Games? What happens at the final eight?"

I listen and pray that he manages to give her some hope, pray that it is enough to convince me too. Plutarch didn't promise Annie's safety. He didn't say that he would look out for her. I should have phoned the night before the arena. I should have set up something to keep her safe- hidden her away somewhere where they would never find her. I should have. I wish. There must have been something I could have done.

"At the final eight? They interview your family and friends back home."

"That's right. They interview your friends. And can they do that if they've killed them all?"

"No?"

"No. that's how we know Prim's alive. She'll be the first one they interview, won't she? First Prim. Then your mother. Your cousin, Gale. Madge. It was a trick, Katniss. A horrible one. But we're the only ones who can hurt by it. We're the ones in the Games, not them."

"You really believe that?"

"I really do."

"Do you believe it, Finnick?" She turns to me.

I struggle to find words but somehow they appear. "It could be true. I don't know. Could they do that, Beetee? Take someone's regular voice and make it…"

"Oh yes, it's not even that difficult, Finnick. Our children learn a similar technique in school."

"Of course Peeta's right." Johanna cuts in, her frankness strangely comforting. "The whole country adores Katniss' little sister. If they really killed her like this, they'd probably have an uprising on their hands. Don't want that, do they? Whole country in rebellion? Wouldn't want anything like that!" I want to laugh- strangely- it is just so typical of Johanna. "I'm getting water." She adds and heads off towards the jungle.

"Don't go in there. The birds-"

"They can't hurt me. I'm not like the rest of you. There's no one left I love." And in many ways that's even worse than the birds calling out in the painful cries of our loved ones.

In need of recovery time I head back to the water and plunge myself into its depths. I hope it washes away these scars as easily as it drew out the poison from the fog.

Another cannon booms.

I switch from swimming to weaving another basket, knotting another net. Maybe I'll be able to do some fishing.

I take more than we need but it keeps me busy while the faces rise up in the sky. Another eight gone.

"They're burning through us." Johanna points out.

"Who's left? Besides us five and district two?"

"Chaff."

Another parachute falls from the sky, this time the rolls are from District 3. I guess Plutarch can see how desperate things are getting down here and has changed our leaving time. I count them, Twenty-four. So we leave at midnight tomorrow.

We wait until the giant wave has wetted the beach then we settle down to sleep. I dream of Annie. He face twisted in pain and those screams bellowing out of her- amplified beyond reason.

The crack of lightning at midnight wakes me, hot and sweating from my dreams and I involuntarily call out upon waking. It takes a moment for me to realise where I am. To see Katniss and Peeta sat side by side nearby. I am out of breath, spooked by my nightmare. I know I won't be able to sleep again tonight.

"I can't sleep any more. One of you should rest. Or both of you. I can watch alone." I need to keep busy. Find something else to do

"It's too dangerous. I'm not tired." Peeta insists, not realising that I just want to be alone. "You lie down, Katniss," he continues.

When he has made sure that Katniss is secure he comes and sits by my side. I grab some more of the long blades of grass and twist them through my fingers but somehow I can't bring myself to weave them together.

Peeta watches me closely and I can tell there is something he is desperate to say to me. Something he is desperate to get off his chest. He glances down at my leg where my undershirt is still wrapped around my wound, the blood brown where it has dried.

"Why are you helping us?" he asks me.

"We're an alliance. It's what we agreed to do."

He shakes his head. "It's more than that. You shouldn't have… you didn't have to take that knife in your leg but you did- just to stop me getting-"

"A scratch is a bit different to you being impaled on a spear," I try to chuckle, make light of it but his eyes are still on me and it is hard to keep up the reuse.

I can almost see him thinking, trying to put the pieces together but the cameras are still on us and as ignorant as he is to our plans I know Peeta won't try to give it away.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful. I mean, I owe my life to you- twice now. It's just… if you have to look out for anyone I would rather you looked out for her." He looks across at Katniss with affection. She gently sleeps, her breathing soft and even. "I mean, I know it's my job but… well, I can't exactly turn down any help I'm offered. I'm not like the rest of you. I am here because of her. All through the last Games she was the one who kept me alive and now I need to return the favour."

I nod. I understand completely. But it doesn't change a thing. "I need to look out for everyone," I tell him. "I don't want to leave anyone else behind."

It doesn't matter if I have known them for years or for weeks, whether I have sworn to protect them or not, I have had enough of death and dying and pain. All of us need to make it out now. We only have one day left and I am going to make sure we are all there when Plutarch takes us away. Then I am going to get Annie too and all of us will finally be safe. There simply is no other option.


	132. Chapter 132

Beetee's plan on the surface seems to be to electrocute Brutus and Enobaria- to fry them up like the pieces of tree-rat on the force field but I can't help but wonder if there is more to it than that; If this isn't really the plan to get rid of the remaining Careers but the plan to get us out of here.

For our final night we decide to gorge ourselves on seafood before all the fish and shellfish are fried with the same lightning bolt which is targeting the careers. I show the others how to spear fish and dive for oysters then we start cleaning it all up ready to be eaten.

"Hey look at this!" Peeta says. He has just prised open an oyster where a pearl sat clamped in its jaws. He turns to me. "You know, if you put enough pressure on coal it turns to pearls."

"No it doesn't." Don't talk to me about pearls.

Katniss begins to laugh and I guess it is some sort of in-joke between them. Peeta rinses off the pearl and hands it over to her. "For you."

"Thanks." They look into each other's eyes and I have to look away.

"The locket didn't work did it?" Peeta says, his voice low and serious. "Katniss?"

I guess time is growing so short that there is no longer the provision for privacy. I turn my back to them and busy myself with gutting one of the fish we caught but I can't help but hear.

"It worked."

"But not the way I wanted it to." Peeta also looks away and busies himself with oysters. A strange atmosphere grows between them and I don't know how to break it.

I am thankful when another parachute arrives. I intercept it as falls and unwind its folds to see what is inside. More District 3 rolls- tonight is definitely our last night. I count them- twenty-four. As the lightning hits the twelve o'clock tree Plutarch will come for us. I no longer have any doubt. This is not just a plan this is _the _plan. This is why Plutarch made sure the wire was at the Cornucopia. This is why Haymitch told Johanna and Blight to guard Beetee and Wiress. Everything has been building up to this moment.

"Twenty- four again," I mutter aloud. We divide up the rolls- 5 each and we leave the remaining seven, just in case.

With the bread they have also provided a spicy red sauce which will go well with the last supper. We eat as much as we can. I eat so much I wonder if I will ever be able to move again. We don't talk about the plan. We don't talk about much at all, really. Everything has already been said.

When it reaches about nine, all of us head up the hillside to the lightning tree where Beetee is waiting for us to assist.

"Get that branch," Beetee instructs me as he unravels a large portion of the wire.

I grab the branch and await my next instruction.

"Now secure the wire round it."

Again I do as I am told then I place the branch on the ground.

"Stand over there," he grunts, "We'll pass the spool between us."

We pass it back and forth. I listen closely the whole time, waiting for him to tell me to stop. The wire coils round and round the trunk but I can't tell if there is more to it than that. Beetee seems to have a clear idea of what he wants to achieve, though, so I just keep going. When I finally step back from the trunk I see there is a sort of pattern to what we have created, although, of course, I have no idea how important it is to the plan.

In the distance we can hear the wave rolling in. Ten o'clock. We have two hours left until we are rescued.

"Right," Beetee says, turning to look at all of us, sweat pouring down his brow. "Katniss, Johanna, I need you two to take the wire. You need to take it through the jungle, unravelling it as you go. Lead it down to the beach and drop the spool into the water. You have to make sure it sinks-that's the important bit. Then run for the jungle. You should have enough time to get out of the way before the lighting strikes."

"I want to go with them as guard." Peeta pipes up.

"You're too slow. Besides, we need you on this end. Katniss will guard." Beetee informs him. "There's no time to debate this. I'm sorry. If the girls are to get out of there alive they need to move now." If anyone else said it I am sure that Peeta would have protested but only Beetee has a clear idea of the plan, only Beetee knows exactly what is needed for it to work. He hands the coil of wire over to Johanna.

"It's OK, We'll just drop the coil and come straight back up." Katniss reassures Peeta.

"Not into the lightning zone." Beetee warns. "Head for the tree in the one-to-two-o'clock sector. If you find you're running out of time, move over one more. Don't even think about going back on the beach, though, until I can assess the damage."

Katniss holds his face; it is as if she is trying to block the rest of us out, to create a final moment with just her and Peeta. "Don't worry. I'll see you at midnight." It is brief but there is no time for more. Katniss turns towards Johanna. "Ready?"

"Why not? You guard. I'll unwind. We can trade off later."

And they head off into the jungle.

Once they are out of sight Beetee turns to me. "Finnick, you stand on guard. Peeta, do you still have your knife?"

Peeta nods and holds it up.

"Good, give it to me."

"OK."

Beetee takes the branch from off the floor- the one we coiled wire round earlier today. "We need to wrap the wire around the hilt of the knife." He says.

As Peeta holds out the knife Beetee loops the wire round and round. I had wondered why we separated out the wire before looping it around the trunk of the lightning tree but I am still unsure of what purpose this new device is going to serve. It takes a while to secure the wire. Beetee is just indicating that everything is ready when we hear someone running towards us.

I lift my trident, ready to attack and I almost do, except, at the last second, I realise that it isn't Enobaria or Brutus but Chaff.

"They're on their way," he pants. "I tried to head them off but they saw Johanna and Katniss heading off into the jungle alone. I tried to lead them off as best they could but I think they've had enough of my tricks."

I shouldn't have let Katniss out my sight. It is my job to protect her at whatever cost. By letting her walk off into the jungle alone with Johanna I am not doing my job properly.

"I'll warn them!" Peeta says.

"No! You stay here!" I shout to him. I can't lose both of them. I head off into the trees, trying to follow the trail of wire that indicates which path they took. "You stay on guard here!" I shout, turning over my shoulder but I have already run so far that I can no longer see them and the lightning tree is lost amongst the others.

My head swivels in all directions but I am running so fast I can hardly see what is around me. They can't have gone that far, they haven't had enough time… I leap over tangled vines and fallen branches; I dodge between trees, my trident held ready, my heart hammering. I have to find them. I have to save them. Everything is depending on it.

Nothing. Nothing. Everywhere I look. No sign of them. I am beginning to think they have vanished when I find a tangle of wire hanging down from the trees. Someone must have cut it. That means that Brutus and Enobaria must be close by. They must be within reaching distance. I push myself onwards, given new vigour by the renewed urgency of the task.

"Johanna! Katniss!" I call. It hardly matters if Brutus or Enobaria hear me, I am ready for them. All that matters is finding the girls.

I really wish I hadn't eaten so much. I am running as fast as I can but it is still not good enough. They must be here. But I can see nothing, hear nothing. The only relief is that the cannon hasn't told me the fight is over.

Still nothing.

The cannon causes me to stop dead in my tracks. Who is it? Katniss? Johanna? Or could they have wheeled their way to the lightning tree to attack Beetee and Peeta? I don't know where to go or who to turn to. Do I double back on myself or do I keep looking?

I don't know what to do. Time seems to rush past me and I can't keep up. Whatever way I go now I won't be able to help everyone. It feels as though the plan is falling down around me. It feels as though the whole arena is collapsing and I can't keep track of everything so I just keep running, hoping that I will find something, someone that I can help- someone who knows what is going on.

"Katniss!" I should have known that Peeta wouldn't stay put. I should have known that he would have followed me into the jungle.

I head towards his voice. Maybe Katniss and Johanna will be doing the same thing and we will find each other. I cross diagonally through the trees, still searching, searching everywhere for any sign of the others.

I pause completely to allow myself to hear something other than my own thumping footsteps but my pounding heart is the one thing that rages through my ears. Shout again Peeta. Come on… I consider shouting myself but I don't want to give away my position.

I am about to set off again when a piercing scream sets my teeth on edge and someone throws themself onto my back. Claws dig into my skin. I am sure it is one of those monkey mutts again, except it isn't the right time and I'm not even at the right part of the arena.

I use all my strength to throw the creature to the ground but as I rip it off my some of skin tears away with it. It is only when I see it on the floor that I realise it is Enobaria. Her deadly teeth glow in the moonlight as she pulls her mouth into a deathly grin.

"I was hoping I might run into you," she says silkily.

But I don't give her a chance to 'run in to me' as I rush towards her. She scrambles to her feet laughing as we begin our game of cat and mouse.

Together we weave through the trees until she stops and presses herself against the trunk of one. As I swipe towards her with my trident she ducks out the way and all I hit is the tree.

She laughs again. "You are going to have to do better than that." She darts towards me with the knife but I twist out of the way and the chase continues.

We run up the hill and I soon realise I am heading back towards the lightning tree. I can't help but remember Beetee's warning to Katniss and Johanna telling them not to return but with Enobaria right behind me I suddenly feel out of ideas. I have no idea what the time is. I don't know how long we have before the lightning strikes, before Plutarch performs his miracle and somehow rescues us from the arena.

"Katniss!" Peeta calls again. He is still alive. It sounds like he is travelling to the left of us but I can't tell in what direction. He should know better than give away his position

"Peeta!" I hear Katniss scream. "Peeta! I'm here! Peeta!" They are both still alive. Katniss sounds close. Perhaps near the lightning tree itself.

"Maybe we should go find her, hmm?" Enobaria says. She picks up the pace charging faster and faster towards the tree. All I can do is keep up with her, my trident directed at her back but I can't get a good shot in as she darts wildly from left to right.

We reach the tree. She isn't here. I look around searching for her, searching but she must have already moved on. I am just about to strike Enobaria when another cannon peels out.

"Katniss!" Peeta howls but he still sounds far away. Too far for Enobaria to reach.

It must be nearing midnight. I have no idea what is going to happen when the lightning hits the tree but I know I don't want to be close by when it does. I consider running back down the hill but Enobaria will be hot on my tail.

She approaches me, knife slashing the air in front of her. I look around for something- anything that might help me. My net is still draped over my shoulder. I drag it free and throw it up into the air. Enobaria sees it but doesn't move quickly enough and it tangles around her. As she struggles to free herself I run.

A bright flash of light illuminates the sky and I stumble down the hill, rolling wildly as a jolt of electricity runs through me. Explosions. Flames. Everything around me is on fire and I still have no idea of where anyone else is other than Enobaria. The sky is like a fireworks display, it is so bright I can hardly look at it but somehow, amongst the glow I see a hovercraft emerge. Does that mean….? Am I the only one left?

A claw drops down from the bottom and is lowered into the trees. It scoops something up. In the burning light I see rag doll held in its metal claws. Katniss. She is still alive. She is safe. She is swallowed up by the hovercraft.

When the claw drops a second time it pulls Beetee from the jungle. He is so still and lifeless that I am pretty sure he must be dead but at least he is getting out. At least he won't be fodder for the Capitol.

The hovercraft moves over slightly until it is directly overhead and I can tell that this time the claw is coming for me.

"Get the others first!" I call to it but my voice is weak. Peeta and Johanna. If they are still alive then I need to know they are safe before I am. "Get the others!" I scream but it is swallowed up by the rapid bursts of explosions that still fill the arena.

The talons close around me. "You need to go back! You have to get them first!" I say and I try to fight the claws but I am frozen and there is nothing I can do.

As they lift me up into the sky I get a bird's-eye view of the arena and through the trees I manage to see more figures- I think I can just make them out. Johanna, Peeta. Still alive. They will be next. They will save them too.

I am nearing the underside of the hovercraft when I notice another gliding towards us, its own claw stretched out ready to pluck more tributes from the arena. I try to shout out- to find a way of warning those on the ground but I can't make a sound.

They drag me inside the hovercraft and Plutarch comes forward and takes my hand but I am still looking down at the arena. Maybe they will be able to get them first. Maybe we will be able to save them.

"The Capitol ship has arrived," someone tells him. "We won't be able to head them off."

Plutarch turns to one of the crewmen. "Close the doors. We are heading out."

The claw is pulled up inside the hold and the doors close. I can no longer see the arena. I am completely cut off from Johanna and Peeta.

"What are you doing?" I say. "You have to go back for them. What are you doing?"

"Finnick you need to be checked over by a doctor," is Plutarch's cold reply as he walks away into the main body of the ship.

"You can't just leave them!" Someone wraps something around my shoulders and starts to led me away. Plutarch never once turns round.


	133. Chapter 133

I sleep. I don't know how I sleep but I do. I am burnt out.

When I awake I find I am in a sort of hospital. Beds run down both walls. Next to me Beetee is hooked up to about hundred different machines. Opposite me Katniss lies on her back. Her hands and feet are tied onto the table and a tube runs out her arm. There is no one else.

I try to sit up but my head is pounding and, although I didn't feel that bad while I was in the arena, I now feel as though my whole body is stretched and bruised and torn. What have they done to me?

I pause, listening to the gentle _beep beep_ of Beetee's machine and I try to remember. Piece by piece I try to reconstruct the final hours in the arena and when I am done it is as if I have been kicked in the gut. They left them behind. I saw them- Peeta, Johanna on the ground, ready to be rescued and they just flew away. They just left them and I wanted to go back but there was nothing I could do and I couldn't move.

Annie. I am ashamed that she isn't my first thought upon waking but so much has happened. There is so much confusion. But they will go and get her- we won't leave her behind like we did the others. There will be no Capitol hovercraft looming to take her away. I won't let them.

I try to sit again- slower this time then I try putting my weight onto my legs. Bit by bit I test them until finally I stand- shakily, uncomfortably- but I am upright.

No one is around. I wonder where all the doctors and nurses are- the people who are meant to be looking after us. Someone must have set up all those machines but if they are around I don't see them.

The door to the ward opens easily and I step out into the bright white corridor. "Hello!?" I call. The sound echoes round the walls. "Is anyone here?" my voice cracks, grated by sleep and exhaustion.

I make my way down the corridor. The gentle lilting suggests that I am still on board the hovercraft. As I walk I lean against the wall for support, suddenly I feel very tired again. I look behind but already the door of the hospital feels as though it is a very long way behind.

"Plutarch?"

The wall runs into a door and I lean up against it, clinging to the handle for support. There must be someone else here. The crew men- someone must be able to give me some answers.

A door at the other end of the corridor opens and Haymitch steps into the blinding light, blinking as his eyes struggle to adjust.

"Haymitch." I croak. I don't know why but for but some reason I didn't expect him to be here. It has only been a few days but it feels like a lifetime since I spoke to him on the fourth floor of the Training Centre.

"You're awake?" he grins but it doesn't hide his concern.

"Do you still have it?"

He opens the top of his shirt to reveal the small gold band I entrusted him with. He slips it off over his head and presses it into my hand. He pats my shoulder; still smiling but it is a sad smile- a pitying one.

"She'll be glad to get it back," I say.

He rests his hand on my back. "Why don't you come sit down?"

I let him lead me further down the corridor. He keeps going until we reach a metal door which he pulls open. Inside there is a long dining table and enough chairs for a board meeting. For some reason, as if I am suddenly extremely old or infirm, he helps me into a chair before he sits down opposite me at the table.

"Plutarch will want to talk to you, no doubt, but I have some words I want to share first."

Everything feels so serious, so alien. I don't know what to say. It is as if someone has died… "Annie-?" I start to enquire but he talks over me.

"I need to thank you for what you did down there. I don't think anyone could have done a better job of it. You did what you had to do and… and I'm grateful for that." Now his voice begins to crack.

"What happened to the others?"

"They were picked up by the Capitol. They sent in a hovercraft to capture all of you but we managed to get you three out of alive."

Why us? I think. Why not Peeta? Why not Johanna or Enobaria? Why just us three?

"We would have liked to get everyone but there wasn't time. We had to save who we could."

"What about the mentors? Paddy? Sorely-?"

Haymitch shakes his head. "Peacekeepers stormed the control centre and took out as many as they could. I was lucky to get out."

I want to ask him how he managed it but I already know the answer; Plutarch. It helps to have friends in high places. He probably wasn't even there when the raid started.

"Are we going to Four?"

Haymitch shrugs. "You will have to talk to the man in charge."

"We need to get Annie."

"I'm sure he's got it all figured out."

The door opens. A woman with a trolley of food barges her way through and Plutarch is close on her tail. She dishes out bowls of broth and plates of bread for each of us but when the smell of it hits my nose I have to try hard not to vomit. I push the bowl away but drag the napkin onto my lap, busily twisting it into knots.

Plutarch smiles widely- all white teeth and dimples- the kind of smile you expect in the Capitol. The way he is behaving it is as if he is attending some soiree.

I am bursting to pounce on him, to demand answers. To know what he is going to do about Annie. What he is going to do about Peeta and Johanna and all the rest of them that needed saving but he left behind. I want to force him to give me straight answers rather than speaking in the same old incessant riddles that I am constantly bombarded with.

"Well, all things considered, I think we can class this as a success." He spreads his napkin across his lap and uses his spoon to skim the top of the broth. "Delicious."

"When are you going to get Annie?"

He takes another sip from the edge of his spoon then calmly turns towards me. "We are heading for District Thirteen," he informs me.

Of all the things I expected him to say that is not one of them. "I thought-"

"That it didn't exist? You'll recall the safe place I told you about..?"

I hear the words he is saying but it doesn't quite sink in- they don't quite make sense. District Thirteen was destroyed. "What?"

"We made an alliance with District 13. This is their hovercraft."

But… what? "We are going to District Four," I tell him. "We need to get Annie"

"I'm afraid we can't at the moment. It is chaos in the districts." He turns to Haymitch. "Communications are down in Seven, Ten and Twelve. But Eleven has control of transportation now, so there's at least a hope of them getting some food out."

For some reason he doesn't seem to understand the urgency of me seeing Annie again. Wasn't that part of the deal? Haymitch has already told me about what a good job I've done. Surely I have done enough. I held up my end of the bargain.

"If you can't pick her up could you drop me off there?" At least that way I can keep her safe.

"No, I'm sorry. There's no way I can get you to Four. But I've given special orders for her retrieval if possible. It's the best I can do, Finnick."

But that is just Plutarch's fancy way of telling me they are going to do nothing. That means it is up to me again. The Capitol will be after her- they will do whatever they can to use her against me. They know I am working for the rebellion and she is the only thing left they can use as leverage. It is my fault she is in danger. Without me there is a chance that they will leave her alone. Without me there is still a chance that she might survive.

"If I was gone they would leave her alone," I don't realise I say this revelation aloud until Haymitch answers me.

"Don't be stupid. That's the worst thing you could do. Get her killed for sure. As long as you're alive, they'll keep her alive for bait."

Suddenly someone bursts through the door. Katniss. She stands there in shock- looking at the three of us. Haymitch, however is unfazed.

"Done knocking yourself out, sweetheart?" he gets up from the table and grabs hold of her wrists. "So it's you and a syringe against the Capitol? See, this is why no one lets you make the plans. Drop it." He forces the syringe out of her hands and pushes her into the chair next to me.

Plutarch gives her a bowl of broth and some bread. "Eat."

Haymitch sits down at the other side of the table, opposite the pair of us. "Katniss, I am going to explain what happened. I don't want you to ask any questions until I'm through. Do you understand?"

And suddenly he explains the whole plan. Bits of it I know, other bits surprise me. I try to piece the different parts together but he speaks so fast and everything he says is punctuated with Annie. Annie. Annie. I wish someone woudl sit down with me and explain why things are how they are. I wish Plutarch had given me real reasons. And Annie... i wish i had never left her behind.

"… Once the force field blew, you'd be the first ones they'd try to capture, and the less you knew, the better"

"The first ones? Why?"

"For the same reason the rest of us agreed to keep you alive," I tell her. After everything that happened, everything we did for her, she has to at least understand why. But as I say it my head rolls forward drunkedly. I am sure I am going to be sick.

"No, Johanna tried to kill me."

"Johanna knocked you out to cut the tracker from your arm and lead Brutus and Enobaria away from you."

"What? I don't know what you're-"

"We had to save you because you're the Mockingjay, Katniss. While you live, the revolution lives." Plutarch says it plainly. It is the exact same argument they used to convince me to join this ridiculous plan.

"Peeta."

"The others kept Peeta alive because if he died, we knew there'd be no keeping you in an alliance. And we couldn't risk leaving you unprotected." Haymitch tells her

"Where is Peeta?"

"He was picked up by the Capitol along with Johanna and Enobaria."

Katniss lunges across the table, clawing at Haymitch's face. Despite my exhaustion I immeadity spring to my feet and my hands automatically start to pull her away. They scream and yell at each other and I want to tell them to shut up. I want to tell them that they should stop it because they may have lost Peeta but at least they have each other. At least they are safe.

More people come to my side and together we haul Katniss back to the hospital where they bind her hands and feet as she kicks and screams and thrashes about it fury. They drug her and her muscles begin to relax, although she remains conscious.

As the aides move out the hospital I perch on the bed next to her. She is so angry. So upset. A pang of guilt rises in my chest as I remember the tiny figure standing below in the jungle as I was hoisted onto the hovercraft.

"Katniss. Katniss, I'm sorry. I wanted to go back for him and Johanna but I couldn't move." Silence is my only answer. I guess she won't even talk to me now. I guess I am going to be left completely on my own. "It's better for him than Johanna. They'll figure out he doesn't know anything pretty fast. And they won't kill him if they think they can use him against you."

"Like bait?" She looks up at the ceiling rather than at me. "Like how they'll use Annie for bait, Finnick?"

The tears sneak up on me as her words sink in. Bait. They'll give her their worse to try and lure me to her. They'll do anything they can to make it unbearable for me and worst of all, they won't even give her the chance to die. That is worse than death. That is worse than anything else.

"I wish she was dead. I wish they were all dead and we were too. It would be best." And I cry even harder because it's true.


	134. Chapter 134

Sometimes I feel as though I am still walking through the fog in the arena. Everything around me is shrouded in shadows, I see them twist in strange shapes but I still can't make them out. Then, all of a sudden, they are there, right in front of me, talking to me, expecting an answer.

"How are you today, Finnick?" That same question, over and over, day after day and what exactly does it tell them? Nothing.

I don't know how long I've been here for but judging by the number of times I have heard that question it must be months. Maybe years.

"Finnick?" I turn to look at her.

A middle aged, sterile looking woman. "Who are you?"

"I am Dr. Sampson. I have been conducting your treatment since you arrived here in Thirteen four days ago."

Four days? Yet I have never seen her before. There is a light nasal quality to her voice that I am sure I would have recognised. Is this all part of some plan to confuse me?

"When you received the electric shock in the area it affected your brain's capacity to process information at the speed it usually would. You may be be feeling dazed and disorientated but that is perfectly normal."

She is using so many words and although I know I must have heard them before I am not quite sure what she means. What does she mean about the speed of…

"Is Annie here yet?"

Her serious mouth pulls into a long straight line. "I told you, you will have to discuss that with someone else. I am here to help you recover from-" she sounds slightly irritated. I get the impression I might have asked that question before. She turns towards her desk- which I didn't notice being there before- and takes a sip of water. I look around but there isn't another glass for me to drink from.

The light sounds very loud and there are no windows. We must be underground. I don't remember hearing the lights before. It is like a constant humming- like the buzz of gnat constantly circling round my head.

"Finnick? I would appreciate it if you didn't try to destroy my chair."

I look down. I am sat in a large red chair. On the arm a small hole has been torn into the upholstery and stuffing is spilling out. Some of the stuffing is in my hand. I hadn't even noticed…

She takes hold of my hand and turns it over so the palm is facing upwards. I think she is looking at the stuffing but then I notice the scratches, as though some animal has been gouging into my skin.

"Your hyperactivity is a sign of your agitation. Is there anything you would usually do to calm yourself?"

I pull my hand away from her and as I do so I notice the look in her eye. It is the kind of look that people give Annie when they don't know her. Pitying, fearful, condescending. One thing is suddenly very clear to me; this woman doesn't see me in the same way everyone else has done for my whole life. She doesn't see me as capable or brave or handsome or strong. She sees me as someone who needs to be looked after, someone who can't do things for himself. A lump rises in my throat.

"Do you think I'm mad?"

"It is my understanding that you are suffering from Post-traumatic stress disorder. This is hardly surprising considering recent events."

What would she know about it? What does she know about any of this?

"Finnick-" she says warningly.

I look down again; my fingers have returned to the small rip in the chair and another piece of stuffing falls to the floor.

"Perhaps if we give you something. A stress ball or-"

"Rope."

"Rope?"

"That's what I use."

I can see she looks puzzled. I guess in a place like Thirteen there is less need for rope. Perhaps it is even an alien concept to her. Maybe I will need to act it out or draw her a picture. Maybe I will have to explain to her about how in other parts of the world we don't live underground like moles. How in other parts of the world we like to sit on beaches and swim in the sea and sail on boats and smell the salty air and weave baskets and knot nets and spear fish and there are girls who don't act like robots whose brown hair whips about in the breeze as they walk bare-foot on the sand, as they laugh and sing and tell stories about mythical heroes who don't tell me about how mad I am and keep me trapped here, a place where there are shells and seafood and we eat fish every day and water is more than something you sip from a glass when your mouth gets dry...

Her hands grip on to my shoulder. I am on my feet. My hands balled into fists. She is smaller than me but she pushes my head down onto her shoulder as deep sobs shudder me.

I don't belong here. I should be with Annie. In District Four. We should be together.

The door bursts open and two guards peer into the room. "We heard a commotion," one says.

"Is everything alright?"

"Everything is under control," Dr Sampson assures them.

They are about to leave but she stops them. "Would you look into the storeroom and see if there is a length of rope. I need some for my therapy."

I hear the door click shut.

"It is my job to help you but I hope you are going to help me so we can make sure you are fit and well again as soon as possible," she tells me, lowering me back into the chair.

I don't see why I should trust her, though. I don't see why it matters whether I get better or not. I am not going to help these people. I am not going to help them until they bring Annie to me. That was the deal. That is what we agreed upon. We keep Annie safe. I did my job now they have to do theirs.

* * *

><p>I sit on my hospital bed coiling the length of rope Dr Sampson gave me round and round. Tying a knot then pulling it loose again. I like to be kept busy.<p>

The door swings open. Plutarch enters. I have been wondering when he would show his face. I haven't really seen him since we arrived. He will know what is going on. He will have all the answers. He is probably here to tell me that Annie is on her way- that they sent a hovercraft to Four and they found her safe and well and everything is going to be OK.

"Finnick-" he stands awkwardly several paces from my bed. It is as if he doesn't want to get too close, as if madness is catching or something.

I don't put down my rope. I can talk and knot at the same time.

"Is Annie here?"

"Finnick-" he says again. Something about his tone makes me look up him. He looked exhausted. There are deep bags under his eyes as if he has stayed awake all night. It must have been part of the mission. They must have been working so hard to get to Annie before Snow could that they didn't stop round the clock. That must be it.

"Where is she?"

Somehow his face drops further. "We couldn't get her."

I loop the end of the rope through the centre of my previous coil then twist it forming a second tie to strengthen it.

"Finnick?"

Using the two free ends I begin to make another layer. If I keep going I might not be able to untie it but they have given me so much rope. I could just keep going and going and then have the job of untangling it afterwards. It is hours and hours of work, hours without thinking, hours of busyness. Keep going. Loop, coil, twist, flip, wrap, dip, weave… Plutarch's hand comes down on top of the knot.

"Are you listening to me?" frustration. Someone should get him some coffee.

"We couldn't get her."

Annie.

"Snow had already arrested her. We were too late. I'm sorry, Finnick-"

I stare at his hand. It looks smooth as though he has never done a day's work in his life. Strangely pale but large like the rest of him. It stays on top of the knot and I stay staring at it. I can't move. I don't know why but I can't.

"Oh."

I feel rather than see my hand start to tremble as Plutarch's is still in the way and it Is buried under the rope.

"What does it mean? What does it mean?"

After so long. After me doing all I could to look after her, to keep Snow away from her. The nights in the Capitol. Hiding the truth. All those days apart. Finding ways to bring her back to me after I thought she was lost forever. Everything I have done for so many years and they had just one job… just this one time they had to look out for her for me so I could do as they asked…

"YOU WERE MEANT TO KEEP HER SAFE!" it comes out as a roar. Plutarch flies backwards, his hand finally lifting off of mine. "You had one job. Just one job!"

"They must have come for her straight after we rescued you from the arena."

Of course they did. It is what Snow does. Now he is going to use her to destroy me. She knows nothing and yet he will torture her and injure her as if she could tell him all the secrets of the rebellion. He will hold her over me until I give myself up, until I surrender to him and admit this rebellion is wrong. Everything i do against him he will take out on Annie until I can stand it no longer. Do they have no understanding of how he operates? Did they not see this coming? Are they so blind that they could not predict this?

"We did all we could."

"Go!" I yell him because I know if he stays here a moment longer then I will murder him. I trusted him with all that is precious to me and he has thrown it back in my face. And for what? For what?!

Hospital staff surround me. I am suddenly aware of how high up I am. I must be standing on my bed. Someone tackles me to the ground and I flop off the end of the mattress and hit my head hard against the floor.

I feel a sharp prick in my arm and everything is lost.

When I awake Dr Sampson is sat next to my bed. She is holding my rope. She smiles when she sees I am awake.

"They wanted to take this away from you but I thought it best if you kept it." She places it down on the bed next to me. "Some of us are on your side."

She gets up and leaves me alone.

I stare at the rope. It is thin. Probably not very strong but it is probably stronger than it looks.

Up on the ceiling there are these pipes that are probably used for ventilation. Force everyone to live underground and you have to come up with some way of keeping the air fresh.

I am completely alone. At least I am lucky enough to have a room to myself.

I struggle to get to my feet but determination is a wondrous thing.

The knot comes easily. My fingers do their job without thinking.

The ceiling is low. I step off my bed onto the chair that Dr Sampson was sat in and loop the rope around the pipe.

For some reason I can't help but remember the time in the training room when I sat with Katniss Everdeen showing off my skills with knots, trying to make jokes, trying to get her to like me. I don't think she would be laughing now.

One foot on the back of the chair. Arms out-stretched. Ready. Steady…..


	135. Chapter 135

"Finnick, you need to talk to me. I want to help you." Doctor Sampson's voice springs out of the fog. I wish I could just ignore her forever but she has been sat at my bedside for what must have been hours.

I stare at her, my hands gripping the bed sheet. "There is nothing you can do."

"This isn't making anything better. You can't help Annie by hurting yourself."

But this isn't some self-inflicted pity parade. This isn't something I just sat down one day and chose to do. There is no choice in this kind of misery, as much as she and the others would like to pretend there is. I'm spent. There is nothing left that I can give.

"I want my rope back," I tell her.

"I don't think that's a good idea," she says calmly.

I roll over, glancing up at the ceiling. They have moved me to a ward. No more private room for me. Here there is no ventilation shaft conveniently positioned over my bed, here there are always other patients, doctors, here there is little to no opportunity for anyone to disappear.

"What would Annie think if she knew?" she presses me.

"Don't pretend you know her. You don't. You've never even met her."

"I know she would be sad to see you like this."

"Stop talking about her!" I'm angry. I don't know why. Maybe because this woman- this doctor who has grown up in this bunker- who knows nothing of the world thinks she understands it, thinks she understands me. She knows nothing about me. She knows nothing about Annie.

"We think it could be helpful for your recovery if you start to engage in some normal activity."

"Great. Show me to the sea."

She bites her lip. "There is the gymnasium. You might enjoy joining some of the others in a workout. Exercise releases endorphins which are supposed to relieve symptoms of stress, fight off disease and fight depression…"

Depression, so that's what this is, is it? Some sort of chemical imbalance in the brain? Sadness prolonged beyond what is considered reasonable for my situation. How long has it been since I arrived here? A week? Should I have already got over my mourning period and be bright, chipper and ready to face the day?

"I'm not depressed."

"You might enjoy the distraction."

"I _might _enjoy a kick in the teeth but that doesn't mean I am going to try it."

She sighs. "Finnick, we need to get you out the ward. Maybe just a walk in the sunlight. Vitamin D is said to-"

"Fight depression?" I quirk an eyebrow at her.

What's the point? Annie is my sunlight and she is gone. All that is left is this artificial halogen-lit world. I am surprised anyone can find any joy in it.

"Or what about writing? I hear you are a poet?"

"Yeah, I'll just scribble out a sonnet or two now, shall I?"

She sighs again. I am being difficult but considering my current circumstances I think I have the right to. There is no quick-fix that is going to make everything alright again.

I have been lied to, I have been cheated. I have given them everything that I had and yet it seems it is not enough. It is never enough. They are no different from Snow and they never have been. Not when Hydra was in charge and not now that Plutarch has taken over. There is no freedom in Panem only prison cells with different wall paper.

"President Coin would like to meet you."

The next time I turn to look at the chair beside my bed Plutarch is there. It is as if he just materialised out of thin air.

"What?"

"The President of District Thirteen- Alma Coin- she would like to meet you."

I shrug, "She knows where to find me." Why should I play their game when they won't play mine?

"You will meet her in Command."

"Is she going to bring Annie back?"

Plutarch's eyes drop, no longer meeting mine, but he doesn't openly say no. Maybe I will be able to make a deal? Maybe if I make an agreement with her she will actually honour it. If they want me in Command they must want something from me. This isn't going to be just some meet and greet.

I feel like a corpse but somehow I pull myself to my feet. My legs are shaky, weakened by a lack of use but I find my way to the door.

Plutarch holds something out to me. I look down. A set of clothes. The same uniform everyone else here wears. "At least try to look respectable"

I would have hoped the President would care more about my brains than my looks but Plutarch is so insistent that I put the clothes on. They feel suffocating, too close to my skin after the loose fitting hospital gown.

"Dr Sampson tells me that you have been struggling to adjust to life here in Thirteen." Plutarch says as he starts to lead me away from the ward and through the warren-like hallways of the base.

"Why does Coin want to see me?"

"The revolution continues to make ground but progress is slow. I think the president is keen to establish exactly what assets we have available to us."

Assets. I guess that is what all of us are now. Weapons and symbols- mere commodities that were bought the moment they rescued us from the arena. I get it now. They had a choice of victors; Katniss. Peeta. Johanna, Beetee, Enobaria. Me. Plutarch wants to show them that they picked the right ones. Plutarch wants me to wear clothes because a man wandering around in a hospital gown is definitely not the right choice. To prove he made the right decision Plutarch has to make me look sane- he has to present me as someone worthwhile.

Command- even from the doorway I can feel its hum. The constant vibration of electricity and communication and the complicated web of computers. A number of people I don't recognise sit round a large table and at the head of it is a middle-aged woman with grey hair who I assume is President Coin.

"Soldier, Odair," she says. Her voice is cold and even. Soldier? I guess it figures. A solider is someone who mindlessly obeys- who does exactly as they are instructed and nothing more. They fight, the expect nothing in return and if they die that just means they have done their duty. No wonder president Coin casts her citizens in that role.

She stares at me and I get the impression that I am meant to say something. "President Coin?"

She looks to Plutarch, a puzzled expression on her face.

"You need to answer the question." He prompts me but I have no idea what the question is. How can my name be a question?

"What question?"

Coin exchanges a look with Plutarch who is now looking a little apprehensive. "President Coin wanted to know whether you felt prepared to continue your work for the revolution. I have explained to her your history with the Praetorians and she is very interested in using you as a leader in the revolution. Especially considering all the skills you have developed over the years…."

I try to listen to him. I try very hard to take in every single word but somehow the buzz of the machines seems to drown them out, filling in the gaps around the letters until I can no longer make them out.

There are so many of them and they are all looking at me. What do they really expect from me? What do they want me to say? My life feels as though it is hanging on a single thread and they want me to dedicate everything I have left to a cause I believe in but which has only let me down.

"When are you doing to bring Annie back?" I say. Hopefully they will understand what I mean. They will see that if they help me then I will help them. I will be their soldier but this time I want a guarantee. This time I want to know she is going to be safe because the minute I speak up, the minute I openly declare myself on their side, Snow will take it out on Annie.

"Unfortunately her incarceration in the Capitol is…." I don't even bother listening to the rest. It is so much effort to try and cling on to their words and I can't bear to hear yet another string of excuses, yet another string of reasons why she is always going to be beyond my reach.

"Soldier, Odair?"

My shoulders hunch forward and I rest my forehead on the table as the tears obscure everything else. Somebody- some people grab my arms- one on either side and I am paraded through the corridors and back to the hospital.

When they finally leave me alone I tear off the stupid uniform- Plutarch's token of sanity. I don't want to be sane without her. I want to be so lost that I can't even feel this anymore. I want to sink so beyond recovery that nothing can ever hurt me again.

Dear Annie, what is happening to you? What evils have you been subjected to because I am nothing but a fool?

* * *

><p>Exercise, if you can call shuffling down a corridor exercise. I don't know where I am going. There is something almost comforting about not knowing. They have given me a wristband that tells everyone I am insane. It excuses a lot of things. If I go the wrong way people just push me in another direction, if I say the wrong thing it is just passed off as madness. Everyone here is assigned a role- given a job to do- mine is the resident loony. It gives everyone something to look at- something to keep them on their toes.<p>

Another turn down the corridor. How many corridors must a man walk down before you can call him a man? How many steps must I take before the endorphins magically rearrange my life and turn it into a ray of sparkles?

I barge open another door. I don't care what's on the other side.

"Finnick?" a dry rasping voice in the corner of the room. Haymitch. Yellowed. Sunken features. The hollow expression of a recovering addict.

He looks at me. I look at him. We are both nothing but shells of our former selves. Shadows of what we once were.

"Thought they weren't allowing visitors," he says gruffly.

"I'm not visiting." I say. I hold up my wrist to show him the bracelet, as if that explains everything.

He tries to sit up a little straighter but it seems to be too much effort for him. "Have you seen Katniss?" he asks after a long pause. A slither of hope is in his voice- almost as if he thinks I am hiding her behind the door and she is going to jump out on him all smiles and forgiveness.

"Sometimes." I tell him. If I am honest I have spent so much time wallowing in my own personal agony that I haven't had must chance to notice anyone else.

"I haven't seen her since…"

I shake my head.

"I shouldn't have done that to her. I should have known…." His fist tightens and I can't help but think how there would usually be something there. Some prop that makes Haymitch complete.

"They've got Annie." I tell him.

He nods, understanding in an instant.

I want to say something to him but I can't find the right words.

The door swings open behind me and a nurse or an attendant or someone walks in. He looks at me- first my face, then down at my wrist and he gently takes me by the arm.

"You shouldn't be in here," he says.

"Don't mind him; the pair of us are old friends" Haymitch says but still the man leads me away. Somehow he knows to deposit me back in my hospital ward.

I slump down on my bed. I guess that is enough exercise for today.


	136. Chapter 136

"Finnick, I have brought a visitor to see you, today" Dr Sampson says in her usual patronising tone.

I shake my head. I would rather have then tie me to the bed and inject me with sedatives than have to see another visitor. They are never people I really want to see. They are always just another face that means nothing.

"Come on, Finnick, at least show a bit of willing."

I turn my back on her.

"Maybe we could negotiate something? You do this favour for me and I'll do a favour for you."

Always with the negotiations. Is that all that matters here? Is there no compassion?  
>"I want my rope back"<p>

She clicks her tongue. "I don't think that's a good idea..." But she is starting to doubt herself. if I keep this up maybe there is a chance i'll be able to change her mind. "Isn't there something else?"

"Rope or no deal."

She pauses, maybe hoping I will change my mind but we both know she can't force me to do anything. She can bring in this visitor and I can ignore them. It makes no difference to me If they are here or not. It is easy to make people vanish in the fog. Just think how easily Mags vanished-disintegrated- one minute she was there and the next she wasn't.

"Fine." She finally gives in.

"I want it before they arrive."

"He is waiting outside."

"No deal, then"

She sighs and mutters something about this all being 'for my own good' and part of my 'treatment'. I don't really see how anything Dr Sampson does can be seen as treatment though. It is mostly just talk. Cheap talk at that.

A few minutes later she is back holding a piece of rope. The exact same piece of rope from before.

She holds it out in front of me. "Can you show me how you made the noose?"

"Planning on using it yourself?"

"Just show me, I'm... Interested."

"I thought the 'visitor' was waiting."

"Just do it."

I comply. I even slowly talk her through all the difference steps to making it, just in case she does want to try it herself later. Then, when I have finished the final loop she leans forward over my bed and cuts the rope with a pair of scissors I hadn't noticed her holding. She cuts it just above the loop and snatches the remaining rope away from me.

"There," she says, clearly satisfied with herself. She gives me a sarcastic sort of smile and then goes to the door. "Right, sorry for the delay, there were a few _issues_ we needed to resolve."

As the door opens I don't look up, I am already too engrossed in my length of rope. I have missed it so much. I now have the power to block out everything else again. I can even block out my own thoughts and replace them with an endless stream of _knot, loop, tuck, wind, pull, pick, fold..._

"Finnick?"

It is only when he speaks that I register who it is. "Rordan?"

"See, I knew you would want to see this visitor," another cheery smile from Dr Sampson as she leaves the room. She is probably going to watch the whole encounter from a screen. I wouldn't put it past her.

Rordan awkwardly perches on the end of my bed, clearly unsure of exactly what he is meant to say to his once mentor now resident madman.

"I didn't think I would see you again," I tell him.

"Well I didn't think i'd see _you_ again" his fingers grip hold of my bed sheet. I can tell he is struggling to think of something to say.

I look down at the knot that is slowly growing in my hands. I'm glad I've got my rope back Even if it is shorter. It gives me a distraction, something to save me from all the difficult moments that follow me around.

"I suppose we are kind of similar in some ways, I mean not many people can say they were a tribute who escaped the arena without winning..."

"I'm glad you're safe." I do mean that but somehow it comes off sounding insincere. "How are your parents?"

"Fine. Things are good here. I know it's tough right now but you'll get used to how things work. You'll miss home, of course, but these are good people, they want you to be happy. We are pretty lucky to be here."

I wouldn't exactly have put it that way myself but when I think about it, I realise I must be looking at one of the luckiest people around. How could he manage to escape just at the right time, right before all of the troubles?He managed to escape certain death, regain everyone he thought was lost to him and actually seem happy in his new life. The boy Is practically a walking, talking advert for the golden new life we can all live in District Thirteen. He even looks healthier. No wonder Dr Sampson was keen for me to see him.

A sour part of me wants to bring up the boy from the Capitol. The one that Peeta Mallark killed on the first day in the arena. The boy who had absolutely no right to be there at all. Somehow I manage to hold it back, though.

When I look at him again Rordan looks concerned. He has this expectant look on his face which suggests I have missed something again.

"Dr Sampson says she thinks it might be good for me to regularly stop by."

I bet she did. This is probably all part of some theory about me having friends or a social life or something because all the people I actually know-that I actually might call myself friends with- are too preoccupied or broken to be a suitable friend. I do care for Rordan but he is such a child. He is so far removed from the place I'm in now that I don't have a clue what we could even talk about.

"Maybe I'll stop by again tomorrow..." His voice trails off at the end. He is still waiting for me to answer but I don't know what to say.

Suddenly I feel tired. Too tired to think. I slump down on my side and let the fog consume me.

* * *

><p>A herd of us shuffle from the hospital. I am swept along with the rest of them, forced to keep placing one foot in front of the other because if I stop the stampede will crush me.<br>There are so many people but everyone looks the same. The same clothes, the same empty faces. I am glad when they get swallowed up by the fog. I run my rope through my fingers; feel the regular bumps of the coils, the stringy ends which have begun to fray.

"Finnick! How are you doing?"

"Katniss." Suddenly she stands before me. I don't know where she came from. She wasn't there a second ago. It is as if she just sprung up out of the ground. I grab hold of her hand, afraid she is going to disappear into the endless fog of drones like everyone else.

"Why are we meeting here?"

"I told Coin I'd be her Mockingjay. But I made her promise to give the other tributes immunity if the rebels won. In public, so there are plenty of witnesses"

"Oh." I guess I see who has all the bargaining power. I wish I had thought of it. If they can't bring her home then surely this is the next best thing. I should have told Plutarch I would have helped him if he kept Annie safe once the revolution is over but somehow the thought never came to me. "Good. Because I worry about that with Annie. That she'll say something that could be construed as traitorous without knowing it."

What happens if she has one of her turns? What if they listen too closely as she rants and raves and think she means it? I kept the rebellion from her. I tried to make sure she knew nothing about it but what if she overheard things and somehow they became part of her? The slightest wrong word and they could torture her for more. I kept her as safe as I could but it just wasn't enough. None of my efforts matter now. Nothing matters because it doesn't change anything.

Suddenly someone is squeezing my hand. Katniss. "Don't worry I took care of it." She says and she drifts away again.

The next thing I know a loud voice reverberates over the speaker system. "May I have your attention, please, I have an announcement that I need to make. Soldier Everdeen has agreed to be our Mockingjay. However this is on condition that the other victors- Peeta, Johanna, Enobaria and Annie will be granted a full pardon for any damage they do to our cause."

Angry chatter swells amongst the crowd. I don't know why they are so angry. If they knew Annie- if they understood how frail and lovely she is they would want to protect her as well.

"But in return for this unprecedented request, Soldier Everdeen has promised to devote herself to our cause." I struggle to follow what she means, the words tumble and fold over each other until they melt away into the background and all that is left is me and my rope.

The next day I stumble through the labyrinth and somehow find Beetee. He sits in his wheelchair in a sort of meadow where birds fly overhead. For some reason it makes me feel uncomfortable. This far below the ground this can't be natural. It's like something the Gamemakers might conjure up to lull us into a false sense of security. I bet that is exactly what they are planning.

"Ah Finnick, did Katniss see you? I asked her to tell you that-"

When he mentions Katniss I can't help but think of what she looked like on set the other day. They have turned her in to someone else just like the prep teams in the Capitol.  
>She was beautiful, yes, other-worldly, yes but she is not the girl who started the rebellion. After a whole day on set I don't even know what they were trying to achieve exactly. No one really cared what I thought, of course, so I just made a joke and made myself disappear.<p>

I shake my head. That isn't why I am here.

"Beetee, you're good with plans...?"

Somehow he knows what I want to ask. "There is nothing I can do, Finnick, without the resources from Thirteen there is nothing any of us can do to free them."

I watch the bird as it aimlessly circles overhead. What is it doing here?

"Is that bird allowed outside?"

"Sadly not. Thirteen has been using them to study aerodynamics for years, if they let them out they would be short of a few subjects."

Just another one of their experiments.

"Do you think they will ever let them go?"

"I honestly don't know."

That is just another way of saying no. I bet they don't live very long. I bet they have to spend their whole lives trapped in this synthetic paradise being studied and admired by people. I guess I know how they feel.

His eyes follow the hummingbird as it darts among the flowers looking for nectar "Isn't it beautiful?"

But I only manage a snort. "Nothing to do but sit in a cage and sing, eh?" I wonder when the Mockingjay will release that's all she has to do. That they are never going to let her really make a difference. She is just going to be a pretty face on a poster And every song she sings, each melody, each note will be another torture, another hit for Peeta.

"Finnick... I have managed to design-" but he is interrupted by a man bursting into the room.

"We're wanted in Command." He glances across at me, "All three of us. Haymitch's orders."

"Thank you, Dalton, we will go immediately"


	137. Chapter 137

I wheel Beetee into command just as Haymitch is welcoming everyone. We take our places around the large table.

"Thank you all for taking time out of your busy schedules to come here today. I invited you all here to watch the new footage of the Mockingjay."

He presses a switch and everyone has to watch the painful display of Katniss stuttering and jerking around- looking every bit like a demented puppet with too many masters as they pull her left and right. They made her look beautiful but any substance is lost.

"All right, would anyone like to argue that this is of use to us in winning the war?"

Haymitch looks around the room but no one pipes up. No one could ever think that is a good thing.

"That saves time." He continues. "So, let's all be quiet for a minute. I want everyone to think of one incident where Katniss Everdeen genuinely moved you. Not where you were jealous of her hairstyle, or her dress went up in flames or she made a halfway decent shot with an arrow. Not where Peeta was making you like her. I want to hear one moment where _she _made you feel something real."

At first there is silence until a young girl I don't recognise finally pipes up. "When she volunteered to take Prim's place at the reaping. Because I'm sure she thought she was going to die."

"Good. Excellent example." Haymitch writes it down on a notepad. "Volunteered for sister at reaping. Somebody else?"

More ideas start flowing.

"When she sang the song. While the little girl died."

"I cried when she drugged Peeta so she could go get him medicine and when she kissed him goodbye!"

"Took Rue on as an ally."

"Extended her hand to Chaff on interview night."

The words are so fast that I struggle to keep up with them all. I wait for a slight pause that gives me the time to say my piece. I say the first thing that popped into my head. "Tried to carry Mags."

I can still see it now. The look of determination on her face as she tried to carry on, even when she knew it was hopeless. I don't think anyone could have done any better. She didn't have to do that. Mags wasn't her responsibility. I am pretty sure she didn't even trust me back then and yet she tried so hard. I think, had effort been the deciding factor, Mags would still be here. I wish she was still here.

I feel her absence in my chest. What I wouldn't give to feel her arms wrapped around me again, telling me things are going to be alright. She always knows the right things to say.

Somehow my cheeks are wet again. I wipe them dry, looking around to see if the others have noticed. If they have then they do a pretty convincing job of pretending they haven't.

"So the question is; what do all of these have in common?" Haymitch says, trying to gather our the ideas together.

"They were Katniss'. No one told her what to do or say."

"Unscripted, yes!" Beetee agrees. Then he turns to Katniss. "So we should just leave you alone, right?"

Like there is any chance of that ever happening.

"Well, that's all very nice but not very helpful. Unfortunately, her opportunities for being wonderful are rather limited here in Thirteen. So unless you're suggesting we toss her into the middle of combat-"A Capitol woman with flowers on her cheeks adds.

Haymitch's expression is smug. He folds his arms across his chest and looks around the table. "That's _exactly _what I'm suggesting. Put her in the field and just keep the cameras rolling."

"But people think she is pregnant."

"We'll spread the word that she lost the baby from the electrical shock in the arena. Very sad. Very unfortunate." Plutarch says. I can tell he is loving this. His eyes light up as he imagines the potential . The face of the rebellion shown in the heat of battle- not a poster girl but someone who is trying to make a difference.

I guess Haymitch had the same idea that I did but, unlike me, he had the chance to say it and be heard. None of us want to just sit around here waiting for something to happen. If they want us to be part of the cause then they should let us fight.

"Every time we coach her or give her lines, the best we can hope for is OK. It has to come from her. That's what people are responding to."

"Even if we're careful, we can't guarantee her safety. She'll be a target for every-" Beetee begins but Katniss cuts him off.

"I want to go; I'm no help to the rebels here."

"And if you're killed?"

"Make sure you get some footage. You can use that anyway."

"Fine. But let's make it one step at a time. Find the least dangerous situation that can evoke some spontaneity in you." Coin finally interjects. I had almost forgotten that she was there. She looks at some of the maps, thoughtfully assessing the district locations. "Take her to Eight this afternoon. There was heavy bombing this morning, but the raid seems to have run its course. I want her armed with a squad of bodyguards. Camera crew on the ground. Haymitch, you'll be airborne and in contact with her. Let's see what happens there. Does anyone have any other comments?"

"Wash her face. She's still a girl and you made her look thirty-five. Feels wrong. Like something the Capitol would do." The guy who collected me and Beetee from the meadow says. I don't know who he is but judging by his accent I would say he is from Ten.

"Right," Coin says. "Meeting adjourned."

Haymitch holds back to speak to Katniss and her friend lingers behind. Plutarch is already near the door but I hurry after him.

If Katniss is going to Eight then I want to go there too. If I start doing something. If I start making a difference then maybe they will let me go get Annie. If I become important to them again I might have some bargaining power. At the very least it will be a distraction. A way to show that I am not just as useless man who wanders around Thirteen, twiddling a rope.

"Plutarch!" I hail him and he back-pedals, allowing the others to move past him so we are the only ones left.

"How are you Finnick?"

"I want to go to Eight. With Katniss."

His mouth twists into a grimace. "Finnick-"he struggles to find the words but even before he says them I know this is a rejection.

"I'm fine." I tell him.

"Finnick-"

"You know I can do this. You've saw what I could do in the arena. I kept them safe. She might need me again. Someone has to look out for her."

"We will have a whole team watching out for her this time."

"Think of the extra appeal- not one victor but two- people will want to see me again. We need to show them that I'm OK. Show them that I am still alive…"

Maybe they will let Annie watch it in the Capitol and then she will at least know that I am safe even if I have no way of knowing what is happening to her. At least that way one of us can feel all right about it. At least one of us can have their mind at rest.

"I don't think it's a good idea. Maybe next time?" he takes a few steps, clearly trying to get away from me.

"Will you at least let me ride in the hovercraft?"

He lets out a sigh. "It's just not appropriate at the moment. Maybe in a few weeks…."

"But I'm fine… I'm…"

"I'm sorry, Finnick." He rests his hand on my shoulder in what is meant to be a comforting gesture but it does nothing to comfort me.

"Right." I say. He is just like everyone else. Just like Dr Sampson- he thinks I am insane. He thinks I can't do anything anymore. But I am still the same person. I am not as useless as they would like to think. But it feels as though every door is closed to me.

I wonder, if I can find out where the hovercraft is leaving from. If I can maybe I will be able to find a way to get on board. Maybe Katniss will tell them that she needs me there. That she can't possibly go to Eight without me. We are a team, an alliance, we may be the only ones left but that must still count for something. Surely Katniss will see what the others don't?

I go to where the elevators will take them to the hangar. I am just in time as Katniss and her escort are just about to climb inside.

"Katniss, they won't let me go! I told them I'm fine, but they won't even let me ride in the hovercraft"

This is it, she is going to ask them if I can come too, tell them that she needs me there….

She smacks her hand against her forehead. "Oh, I forgot. It's this stupid concussion. I was supposed to tell you to report to Beetee in special Weaponry. He's designed a new trident for you."

_Trident. _Beetee has made me a trident. That means… if he has made me a trident then that means that they do want me. That they don't think I am completely useless. Otherwise why would they bother making me a weapon? And if it Beetee made it, it must be something special.

"Really? What's it do?"

"I don't know. But if it's anything like my bow and arrows, you're going to love it. You'll need to train with it, though."

Maybe that is why they won't let me go. They want me to use my new trident and I haven't trained with it yet. That makes sense. You can't have a soldier running around with a weapon he doesn't know how to use and why make me sit in the hovercraft when I could be training for the next mission?

"Right, of course. I guess I had better get down there." I take a couple of steps.

"Finnick?" I turn back to Katniss. " Maybe some trousers?"

I look down. I am wearing a hospital gown, slippers… no wonder they are treating me like a madman, I must look like one. Well no more… I whip off the hospital gown so I am standing in only my underwear. "Why? Do you find this," I strike a pose- the sort I used to pull for the cameras in the Capitol. "Distracting?"

She bursts out laughing. The man she is with just looks uncomfortable. I can't help but smile because it feels like old times again.

"I'm only human, Odair." She calls to me as she climbs into the elevator.

Right, the only trouble is that I now have to negotiate my way back through this warren to find Beetee again.

* * *

><p>"Katniss said you designed a new trident for me."<p>

"Yes, that's right. Here it is." Beetee wheels himself over to one of the workbenches where he picks up a shiny golden trident. It looks like something from a fairy-tale but when he hands it to me I can feel its weight, it's substance, reassuring me that this is a deadly weapon, not just something to put in the cabinet.

"You'll need this as well," he says and he hands me a cuff. "It will help with some of the new features. I suggest we take it to the range so you can try it out."

We go together and bit by bit he talks me through all the different features. Firstly he explains how I can use it like a spear more easily as if I press one of the buttons on my cuff it will return to my hand.

When I try it out it flies through the air like a boomerang, neatly finding its way to my palm. "How does it do that?"

He starts listing a great number of technical things that I don't really follow but when he is done I nod, pretending it has all become clear.

There are other features too. The prong can twist or fire out the end like arrows. It is like a combination of many weapons in one while still essentially remaining my old reliable trident.

"Is there a net to go with it?" I ask cheekily.

"Gratitude," Beetee tuts.

"Seriously, though, it's great." I tell him.

It is. It is probably the first good thing that has happened to me since I arrived here.


	138. Chapter 138

"Finnick" Dr Sampson, springs into the ward and pulls the curtains round my bed shut, as if that could block out everyone else around us, as if it really provides privacy. What is she going to do? Some sort of physical examination?

"Yes?"

I am relieved when she sits down. No examination for me.

"We are pleased with the progress you have been making over the last week and we thought it would be good for you if had some independence outside the hospital. Therefore we have assigned you your own quarters."

She holds out a key in front of me. F14 is written on it. It reminds me slightly of a locker key. I wonder if they chose F on purpose for me or if it is merely a coincidence.

"See, that should be easy for you to remember. F for Finnick and 14 for-"

"How old I was when I won the Hunger Games," I finish. I guess it really isn't a coincidence. They think I am well enough to sleep in my own room but not well enough to remember a simple combination of letters and numbers.

"How do you feel about moving into your own quarters?" she asks delicately. "Of course, you don't have to if you feel you are not-"

"I think it will be good." Then I will have some space from you, I quietly add in my head.

"Of course, we will continue our daily sessions with each other and I can always pop in if you feel you need me to-" she adds. Great, that's just what I want, to create a hospital ward away from the hospital ward. Lucky me.

She helps me move my stuff- Annie's ring, my piece of rope and my assigned toiletries and clothes- into the new location.

Then the next day we move them back again but she lets me keep the key.

"Nightmares are very common with people suffering from-"

But I don't want to hear it. I'm not interested in her theories and medical jargon. It doesn't matter. It doesn't change the fact that I can't spend more than one night on my own without falling to pieces. I know it, she knows it and it is no good trying to pretend otherwise.

I decide to aim for some fresh air but as I head outside I am intercepted by Plutarch's assistant. "Do you have a moment?" she asks me. "I want to talk to you about a project."

She leads me in the opposite direction, instead of moving towards some fresh air we travel deeper into the base and she ushers me into a room which I guess is a sort of office, although it is quite a bare one.

"As you probably know we have been organising a number of propos to try and share our message. Katniss went to do some filming in Eight and-"

"And you want me to go next time? Beetee has made me a new trident and I have been training with it. I think I am ready to-"

"No." she cuts me off. "We were hoping we could use you in another project. Am I right in thinking that you knew a lot of the victors?"

"Pretty much all of them." Despite there being seventy-five of us in total being a victor is a pretty exclusive club. Unless they are the sort of victor that disappears after they win like Annie or Ardal and providing they hadn't died before I joined the group, then I would have met them.

"Good. I want you to record a series of 'We Remember'' pieces which target each of the twelve districts in a personal way. We want to highlight the importance of why we are fighting and what we have lost through Snow's tyranny."

I imagine trying to talk in front of a camera again, trying to explain the lives and the histories of all the wonderful people that are now lost. So many of them that I can't even comprehend that they are gone.

Mags springs into my mind. I never really got a chance to say goodbye. There was no funeral, no eulogy, nothing. This could be my chance to speak up- to explain to everyone- all those people who won't remember her from her first Games just how remarkable she was. How she was so much more than an old woman who had had a stroke.

There is a chance, when Snow sees it, that he will lash out at Annie. He will take it as a sign that I have officially joined the revolution, even though we know i have been part of it for years. I weigh it up in my mind. Not doing it won't keep Annie safe. Doing it could remind a lot of people of why we are fighting.

"I'll do it," I tell her.

"Good. We will have to discuss which tributes we want to feature to get the greatest effect."

"I want to speak about Mags."

"Good. Yes. I think it would also be a good idea to do a piece on Rue- the little girl from District Eleven, she made such an impact."

"But I didn't know her, personally. There is Seeder… or Chaff. He was there right at the end. He died warning us."

She shakes her head. "We can do some research but I want you to speak about Rue. We still have some footage from the Seventy-forth Hunger Games, there should be enough information for us to put something together. If you would prefer I could write a script..."

I remember the stilted lines they gave Katniss to say before Haymitch made them rethink the whole thing. That is the last thing we need for these tribute videos. It would almost be an insult to them, rather than an honour.

"No" I say, "I'll think of something. I'm sure it will come to me. She was a sweet kid."

She lets me go soon after and I consider starting to think about what I want to say- what other tributes I might consider talking about but somehow I get distracted and before I have confirmed a single idea in my head it is already dinner time and I am expected back at the hospital.

I carry my tray over to Katniss' bed so we can watch the propo together.

They describe what happened in Eight, the bombing of the hospital. They use it to show the atrocities the Capitol are doing in this war, making sure Snow and his supporters are painted as villains attacking the weak and the innocent. It's clever but Katniss can't watch it, she spends most of the time hiding her face in her pillow. At the very end it is clear that everyone in the hospital is dead.

It leaves me feeling hollow. "People should know what happened. And now they do."

"Let's turn it off, Finnick, before they run it again." She says desperately.

I go to pick up the remote but she stops me before i press the button.

"Wait!"

Caesar Flickerman is introducing a new Capitol programme. It is an interview with Peeta.

He looks terrible. He has lost a lot of weight and it is clear he is in a lot of pain. They have done their best to cover it up- to try and make him the polished boy he once was but it is painfully obvious that he isn't coming back any time soon. There is a nervous tremor that runs through his hands which mocks all their efforts.

"Oh, Peeta…." Katniss whispers beside me.

We sit together in silence, watching, unable to turn away, unable to believe what is happening. If they have done this to Peeta, who they are clearly eager to use as a public pawn in these games, then what have they done to Annie- to Johanna who they are keeping safely hidden away?

None of the words Peeta uses seem to be his own or if they are they have done something terrible to him to alter the way he thinks. He is very careful, very measured and it is obvious he is speaking with more than one motive but not all of the motives are his own.

"They're using her, obviously, to whip up the rebels. I doubt she even really knows what's going on in the war. What's at stake."

"Is there anything you would like to tell her?"

"There is. Don't be a fool, Katniss. Think for yourself. They've turned you into a weapon that could be instrumental in the destruction of humanity. If you've got any real influence, use it to put the brakes on this thing. Use it to stop the war before it's too late. Ask yourself, do you really trust the people you're working with? Do you really know what's going on? And if you don't… find out."

The screen finally goes blank, replaced momentarily by the seal of Panem.

Quickly I use the remote to turn off the television.

When they come to check on us we need to be doing anything but watching that set. They may be forcing Peeta to say these things but some things are true, some things I have known for a very long time- the rebels- the Praetorians- whoever they are- they can't be trusted one-hundred per cent of the time. They may share some similar ideas to us but their ultimate goals will always differ. They aren't simply doing this for the good of the nation, they are doing it for the good of themselves.

I grip her tightly, desperately, by the arms. "We didn't see it."

"What?"

"We didn't see Peeta. Only the propo on Eight. Then we turned the set off because the images upset you. Got it?"

She nods.

"Finish your dinner." I add.

Reluctantly she does so although I can tell she is struggling to force every bite down, almost gaging on each dry swallow but it has to be that way.

I try to start up a neutral conversation. "Your friend-"

"Gale," she says through her mouthful.

"Yeah, Gale, he came across well on camera. An absolute natural. You would have thought he had been doing it for years-"

The door opens and Plutarch and Fulvia enter. Just in time for our careful setup to be complete.

"All round I think the Propo went well," I tell them. Katniss nods through her full mouth of bread and cabbage. "I was just saying to Katniss how natural Gale looked on camera- a rising star of the future, no doubt."

"Yes, we will have to use him more in future," Fulvia agrees but they are still looking concerned.

"It was pretty hard-hitting stuff," I continue. "Took me a while to catch my breath after. I just kept staring at the blank screen even after we had switched it off."

"Yeah. I couldn't watch half of it, knowing what was going to happen." Katniss agrees, her mouth finally empty.

I can see them practically breathe a sigh of relief. They have bought it. And, as expected, they don't mention anything about Peeta.

* * *

><p>I am pleased when Katniss invites me to join her in the woods. It is the first time when I really feel a though I am breathing fresh air. I follow her down a trail for about fifteen minutes and then we place our communicators in some bushes and continue walking until we are far enough away.<p>

"I haven't heard one word about it. No one's told you anything?" I say to her. Not that anyone tells me anything.

She shakes her head.

"Not even Gale?" I can tell by the look on her face that he has mentioned nothing. I can also tell she is disappointed. "Maybe he's trying to find a time to tell you privately."

"Maybe."

And then, somehow, despite it being the first time we can speak freely, sure that no one is listening in, we run out of things to say. We sit in silence. We are so still and so silent that a buck wander across our path. Katniss shoots it down. I carry it back to the fence, although we make sure we stop to pick up the communicators again on the way.

* * *

><p><strong>AN- I have some good news. I have actually finished writing 'Owned' and can reveal that there will be a total of 152 chapters and an epilogue which will hopefully be updated every weekday. Thank you for everyone who has stuck with this story for so long. I am so happy that I have been able to complete this story and hopefully give it the ending it deserves. <strong>


	139. Chapter 139

We sit waiting to see if Beetee manages to take over the airways. Katniss plops down into the chair next to me and I have to hurriedly explain what is going on before the Capitol seal appears on the screen.

They show Peeta again, beaten, haunted.

"He's worse." Katniss whispers next to me. I grab her hand hoping it will be enough for her to hold on to. We sit locked together as Peeta continues to share evidence on why we need a ceasefire, why the rebellion has to end. I am glad Katniss thought to give him immunity because otherwise they would be sure to kill him for it. Somehow it all seems so reasonable when Peeta says it. If I didn't know any better, if I couldn't catch the look in Peeta's eye I could almost believe it.

Then suddenly, without warning, the feed cuts out and Peeta is gone and instead Katniss is stood in a pile of rubble in District Twelve.

"He did it! Beetee broke in!"

But it is only brief. Soon Peeta is back again. It cuts back and forth, back and forth as Beetee tries to regain control over the airways.

I see a snippet of the 'We Remember' piece I did about Rue the other day. I had watched a lot of footage from the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games in order to find the exact right things to say. By the time I actually got to speaking about her I felt almost as if I did know her. And I finally understood how she is as much a part of the revolution as any of us. Just a small child she is also a symbol for what Snow forced us all to lose- innocence. Whether we were reaped or not we all lived in fear of it, we all knew people who were sent to the Games, were forced to watch them die, were forced to grow up too soon because of it, because of the conditions we were forced to live in. Snow didn't just kill children, he killed childhood.

Soon the battle over the airways is so fierce that it is near impossible to make out what is being shown at any given time- each image is just a single frame- sometimes it sticks with you and sometimes it passes before you even know what it was.

But I don't have to see it to know what is on the Capitol feed. The stronger we get the weaker Peeta will become. And I can't cheer that on like the others. I can't cheer when a teenage boy is being put in danger simply because he was hauled out of the arena by the wrong hovercraft. The set in the Capitol, by the time it comes back, is rubble. Snow steps forward to take the helm. Knowing that they are finally back in control, he turns to Peeta.

"Do you have any parting thoughts for Katniss Everdeen?" he asks.

Peeta struggles to speak but eventually he manages to spit it out. "Katniss…. How do you think this will end? What will be left? No one is safe. Not in the Capitol. Not in the Districts. And you…. In Thirteen…. Dead by morning!"

"End it!" Snow orders loudly. Everything in the Capitol falls into chaos. Peeta tries to say more but the camera falls and we hear a cry of pain. A splatter of blood spreads across the floor. It can only be Peeta's.

Katniss contorts next to me and I have no choice but to let go of her hand as she twists in a silent scream. I look around me. The chaos is here too but that doesn't matter because it doesn't change anything. It won't help Peeta.

"Shut up!" Haymitch shouts over their caterwauling" It's not some big mystery! The boy's telling us we're about to be attacked. Here. In Thirteen."

"How would he have that information?"

"Why should we trust him?"

"How do you know?"

"They're beating him bloody while we speak. What more do you need? Katniss, held me out here!"

"Haymitch's right. I don't know where Peeta got the information. Or if it's true. But he believes it is. And they're-"

"You don't know him. We do. Get your people ready."

"Of course, we have prepared for such a scenario." Coin is, as ever, calm. "Although we have decades of support for the assumption that further direct attacks on Thirteen would be counterproductive to the Capitol's cause. Nuclear missiles would release radiation into the atmosphere, with incalculable environmental results. Even routine bombing could badly damage our military compound, which we now they hope to regain. And, of course, they invite a counterstroke. It is conceivable that, given our current alliance with the rebels, those would be viewed as acceptable risks."

"You think so?"

"I do. At any rate, we're overdue for a Level Five security drill. Let's proceed with the lockdown."

"You two come with me," Boggs says- at least that's what I think he is called. He is Coin's right-hand man or something; in any case he is always around, always doing her bidding.

He leads us downward where a flow of people are already streaming. We have to wave our schedules in front of a scanner.

"You need to report to the area that matches your assigned quarters." Boggs explains. . I have to go to section F- for Finnick (as Dr Sampson helpfully tells me in my head.).

I head off, I guess Katniss belongs in another section because she doesn't follow so I pick up my pace and look for the giant letter F that is posted on the wall.

When there I see that there is a bunk carved into the wall with a sheet of plastic coated paper on it which reads 'bunker protocol' which I shove down onto the floor. People wander back and forth, collect packs, busy themselves with all sorts of things. I try to sit on my bed but the shelf above it hits my head so I just sit on the floor, my rope across my lap.

As people rush about, moving their belongings to and fro I am suddenly afraid that I have forgotten something but when I pat my chest, the chain with Annie's ring on is still secure. I have her ring. I have my rope. I have everything.

Coin's voice comes over the speakers thanking us for our co-operation, reminding us it is not a drill. As if to illustrate her point, that is when the first bomb falls. I crouch on the floor, cradling my ears in my hands. The lights go out then the generators kick in. Above me a safety light glows.

I crouch still and silence. No one pays me any attention and I await for something to change.

"Apparently, Peeta Mallark's information was sound and we owe him a great debt of gratitude. Sensors indicate the first missile was not nuclear but very powerful. We expect more will follow. For the duration of the attack, citizens are to stay in their assigned areas unless otherwise notified." Coin's voice interrupts my personal reverie.

In the bunker things are tedious. Routine rules and I am isolated from everyone I know. So I sit, just me and my rope and the darkness and the occasional bomb dropping overhead.

When most people have gone to sleep Katniss comes to me.

"I know what Snow is doing," she whispers to me. "He is keeping him alive so I still have some hope of getting him back. It isn't about getting information. It is about using him to torture me."

She says it as though it is something new, as if she never thought about it before- as if no one understood the way Snow worked before this moment. I guess I thought she knew. I thought she understood but whereas I have been dealing with Snow for ten years she has only had a year.

"This is what they're doing to you with Annie, isn't it?"

"Well, they didn't arrest her because they thought she'd be a wealth of information. They know I'd never have risked telling her anything like that. For her own protection."

"Oh, Finnick. I'm so sorry." And it is sincere. We are both in the same situation now.

"No, I'm sorry. That I didn't warn you somehow."

"You did warn me, though. On the hovercraft. Only when you said they'd use Peeta against me, I thought you meant like bait. To lure me into the Capitol somehow."

"I shouldn't have even said that. It was too late for it to be of any help to you. Since I hadn't warned you before the Quarter Quell, I should've shut up about how Snow operates." I pull the knot I just made free so I can start again. Always tying and untying knots in a never-ending cycle. Nothing is permanent. There is nothing you can truly depend upon you just have to keep starting over and over again and hope that one day a knot will hold and, what is more, it is a knot you like.

"It's just that I didn't understand when I met you. After your first Games, I thought the whole romance was an act on your part. We all expected you'd continue this strategy. But it wasn't until Peeta hit the force field and nearly died that I-"

"That you what?"

"That I knew I'd misjudged you. That you do love him. I'm not saying in what way. Maybe you don't know yourself. But anyone paying attention could see how much you care about him."

There is silence. I don't know if this is new information for her but could she really, after all these weeks of worrying and torturing herself about it, could she really not know that she loves him. I guess, there are some things people can't go through together without creating a bond. It might not be romantic love- you may not even really like them as a person- but just because you lived through the same hell you can't help but love them a little. Maybe that's what it is like with Katniss and Peeta. Maybe it's why when I see her sat here now, so small and helpless, that I can't help but think of us like a sort of little sister. Someone I need to look out for, protect- she is strong but that doesn't mean she doesn't need friends.

"How do you bear it?" she finally asks.

"I don't, Katniss! Obviously, I don't." I can't believe she thinks I can. Out of everyone here, everyone who has somehow been pulled into this mess I have coped the least. I am useless. I am not even allowed to go on mission anymore. I spend more time in the hospital than anywhere else. Without Annie I am nothing. Just a shell.

" I drag myself out of nightmares each morning and find there's no relief in waking." I can feel it all begin to spill out of me – an endless stream of everything that is wrong, every way I can no longer cope, no longer face this. Then I see the expression on her face. See that she needs me to the strong man she thought I was in the arena. That she is relying on me to tell her things are going to be alright, even if they aren't.

"Better not to give in to it. It takes ten times as long to put yourself back together as it does to fall apart."

I look down at the rope in my lap- my life line. "The more you can distract yourself, the better. First thing tomorrow, we'll get your own rope. Until then, take mine."

I give it to her. No doubt I will have a battle with Dr Sampson to get another but it is clear to me that tonight she needs it because she has finally realised what I have known all along and maybe that is the only reason she hasn't fallen apart until now.


	140. Chapter 140

As we trudge with everyone else through to the other side of those thick bunker doors me, Katniss and Gale are all signalled to one side by Boggs. We follow him all the way to Special Defence, to a room similar to Command where everyone else is already assembled, looking exhausted, cups of coffee clasped in their hands. I guess while we were down in the bunker, bored, suffering with personal agony, they were all up here trying to assess the situation and figure out how District Thirteen and the revolution are going to proceed.

President Coin turns towards us. "We need all four of you suited up and above ground. You have two hours to get footage showing the damage from the bombing, establish that Thirteen's military unity remains not only functional but dominant, and, most important, that the Mockingjay is still alive. Any questions?"

She goes down the line, looking each of us in the eye, challenging us to say something but all I can look at is the coffee. It feels like a lifetime since I have had one.

"Can we have a coffee?" I ask. She did, after all, want to know if we had _any_ questions.

Thankfully no one objects and we are each given a steaming cup. I wrap my hands around it and pause as I let the heat run shivers through me. Then I notice on the table they have left a jug of cream. After sloshing some into my own cup I glance across at Katniss who is standing awkwardly looking down at her cup as though it is some sort of foul medicine. I grab the cream and pour in into her cup too. Then I notice the sugar bowl.

"Want a sugar cube?" I ask her, trying to mimic the same seductive tone I used when we first met. i try not to cringe as I remember what an idiot I was acting that night. It is great to see her smile again. "Here, it improves the taste." I add, adding sugar to her cup as well as my own. The sweeter the better, that's what I always think.

Katniss is led off in one direction and I am taken to a separate room where they can make sure I am looking right. Unlike Katniss I don't have my own professional prep team just a group of enthusiastic volunteers who toss their opinions round and bicker about which way my hair should be swept. I guess it isn't really that different to what the prep teams in the Capitol did.

Fulvia lingers in the doorway, leaning against the frame. Over her arm some clothes Are draped but I can't get a good look at them. "Probably best to get you out of that hospital garb," she says.

I get out of the chair the volunteers had me pinned in and take the clothes from her. They are nothing special- just a green shirt and beige trousers but anything has to be better than the same District Thirteen uniform that we all have to wear. It at least makes me feel like myself again. The uniform makes me feel as though I am part of a large army of clones where everyone is meant to be exactly the same but I somehow missed some vital ingredient that makes people fit in. Maybe that is the real reason they make me wear this band around my wrist.

"Are we going to shoot another 'we remember' video?" I ask her.

"Not today. We need to establish that everyone is still safe- show that we are all still alive and fighting."

I nod but I don't really feel I have the strength to fight. This cup of coffee is stronger than I am. I down everything that is left then pull on the clothes.

"Ready?" Fulvia asks me. I nod and together we make our way up to the surface.

I am pleased to finally be able to breathe in some fresh air again. We head through the woods and join the others who are stood in front of the ruins of District Thirteen's Justice Building.

"Don't touch them!" Katniss suddenly yells, rushing forward. "They're for me!"

When I get close enough I see that red and pink roses have been strewn across the ground. I can't help but think of one thing; Snow. But what does it mean? Is it a warning or a reminder? It is the same old tactic, of course, to make her worry, to make her wonder about Peeta- to keep her hanging onto hope whilst still being horrified by what Snow could be doing to him. He has all the power. Even the smell of the roses makes me want to gag. Whatever the roses mean they are unwelcome.

"It's Snow," Katniss tries to explain. "They're for me. He left me a rose before in my house in the victor's village." She looks down at the long-stemmed roses. "These are the same ones that decorated the set during our post-victory interview… "

What does that mean? What has he done to them? Whispers run through my head, snippets of what people have told me about Snow, about Consus Delore and poison. Is that what this is about? My stomach rolls. Should I say something? Should I warn her?

Some people in suits come and carry the roses away as if they might explode at any moment But I'm pretty sure the damage has already been done.

"What exactly do you need from me again?" Katniss asks, although she looks shaken.

"Just a few quick lines that show you're alive and still fighting." Cressida tells her.

"OK." Katniss says but when the camera starts to roll she does nothing to stare and I know exactly what is running through her head because it is the same thing that has been running through my head since I arrived here. She finally understands how Snow operates, how the rules of the Game work and now it is tearing her apart because she knows it is because of her. She is still staring, hopelessness written all over her face. "I'm sorry, I've got nothing."

"You feeling OK? How about we do the old Q-and-A thing?" Cressida suggests.

"Yeah. That would help, I think." I notice that she glances at me so I give her a thumbs-up even though my hands begin to tremor. I think I need to sit down.

I stagger back slightly and sit down at the edge of the ruined steps that lead up to what's left of Justice Building. I bow my head down, resting my forehead on my knees and I try to steady myself.

"So Katniss. You survived the Capitol bombing of Thirteen. How did it compare with what you experience on the ground in Eight?"

"We were so far underground this time, there was no real danger. Thirteen's alive and well and so am-" She falters. She can't do it and I'm not surprised because I can't do it either.

"Try the line again. Thirteen's alive and well and so am I."

"Thirteen's alive and so-"

I wonder what Annie is doing right now. I picture her in a cell like the one they held me in before. I remember the water gushing over me and the sensation of not being able to catch a breath, of complete hopelessness, knowing that I am dying. I hope she doesn't feel like that. I hope she is alright. She will be scared and lonely. I wonder if she is as lost as I am now.

"Katniss, just this one line and you're done today. I promise. 'Thirteen's alive and well and so am I'"

Katniss tries to loosen herself up by swinging her arms, she draws in deep breaths but as soon as she opens her mouth to speak she bursts into tears.

Of course she can't get the words out. How can we ever speak up against Snow when we know that everything we say will be used against the ones we love- be used as ammunition to hurt and torture them without relief.

"Cut."

"What's wrong with her?" Plutarch whispers near me.

"She's figured out how Snow's using Peeta" I tell him.

A surge of people rush forward to comfort her but it is Haymitch's arms that she finally falls into. "It's OK. It'll be OK, sweetheart."

As I watch them my whole body starts to ache and I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes because Annie isn't here and I love her and Peeta isn't here and Katniss loves him and because all the people I want to hug and comfort me are gone and they are never coming back. Because I am powerless to help because it has always been a choice between the ones you love and a cause you believe in and Hydra made that very clear to me when she had my parents killed. You can't have everything. You always have to choose a side and whichever side you choose is going to be the wrong one Because no matter what you do, you lose.

As Katniss descends into hysteria they give her an injection and she is slowly carried away.

I try to get up but as soon as I reach my fall height I collapse down again, my knees slamming hard against the stone. I can't do this anymore. I just can't do it. I can't keep spending my life trying to see what he is doing to her. I can't… it comes out of me like a howl. I want to tear it all apart, to throw the rocks and ruins of the old Justice Building around, tear all that is left to pieces because really there is nothing left. There is no justice and my building has crumbled. As I try again to get to my feet I feel the needle in my arm and anything turns to darkness.

* * *

><p>It is Katniss who rouses me. I roll over onto my back, struggling to focus on her as she speaks, struggling to listen to exactly what she is saying.<p>

"Plutarch has sent a team. They are getting them out."

"When?"

"They have already left. I wanted to go too but it was too late." She says it in a way that makes me think she doesn't really understand the situation at all. She is full of worry and unease but, if anything this should be the end of worrying.

"Don't you see, Katniss, this will decide things. One way or the other. By the end of the day, they'll either be dead or with us. It's… it's more than we could hope for!"

No more agony. No more wondering. Finally there is hope of some relief. If she is gone then there is nothing keeping me here. The last meaningful thing in my life will have disappeared and I can follow them all.

And if they bring her back…. Instinctively I grab the ring around my neck. It is safe here. Even when we had a direct attack we all just hid in the bunker and nothing could touch us. Snow would never be able to reach us again. We would finally be free- both of us and we could just belong to ourselves. We could have a future- a real one- together. I could make good some of my promises I have never been able to keep. No more trips to the Capitol. No more selling my soul to keep her safe. No more wondering and worrying. No more.

The curtain around my bed pulls back and Haymitch appears. "We still need some footage from after the bombing. If we can get it in the next few hours, Beetee can air it leading up to the rescue, and maybe keep the Capitol's attention elsewhere."

"Yes, a distraction. A decoy of sorts."

"What we really need is something so riveting that even President Snow won't be able to tear himself away. Got anything like that?" Haymitch asks.

Instantly one thought pops into my head; Secrets. Who can resist them?


	141. Chapter 141

"If we declare our freedom, the Capitol collapses. President Snow, thanks to you, I'm officially declaring mine today."

Katniss' words echo through my mind. Freedom. It is what I have been craving all these years.

"Finnick," Plutarch calls to me and I join him and Haymitch over at the side.

"What are you planning on saying?" Plutarch asks me. It is a very pointed question- the kind that makes me think that he has already decided what I am going to talk about and that asking me is just a formality. I get it, he wants me to talk about all the things Snow has made me do over the years.

Haymitch must pick up on it too because he says, "You can't ask him to share that." He looks at me. "It's unfair of you to ask him."

"It would make a perfect distraction," Plutarch assures us. "It is what we need to draw attention away from the rescue mission."

"But-" Haymitch starts to protest.

"I'll do it," I say. Although as soon as I say it the enormity of what I need to share weighs down on me. I have only openly explained this situation to two people in my life; Eoghan and Annie and even then it was difficult, excruciating to find the words for something that has torn me to pieces, something I am ashamed of because it is not something that should have happened. I feel weaker because of it but today I must find the words. This isn't really about me. This is about Annie and doing everything within my power to set her free- set us both free from Snow's control.

"Just say as much as you can," Plutarch says.

I nod, thinking of all the secrets that I have gathered all through the years. I am going to share my own secret first then I will share the rest of them.

"You don't have to do this." Haymitch says.

"Yes, I do. If it will help her." I ball up my rope into my hand, just in case. "I'm ready."

I sit down on one of the fallen marble pillars, knowing that my legs won't support my weight through all of this. Cressida focuses the camera on me. All around people not on the crew are just milling about- everyone except Plutarch and Haymitch- the people who know what is to come. Cressida gives me a thumbs-up to show she's ready. I draw in a deep breath and let the secrets slide out my mouth.

"President Snow used to… sell me…. My body, that is. I wasn't the only one. If a victor is considered desirable, the president gives them as a reward or allows people to buy them for an exorbitant amount of money. If you refuse, he kills someone you love. So you do it. I wasn't the only one, but I was the most popular and perhaps the most defenceless, because the people I loved were so defenceless."

I draw in another breath. It is gone. It is out in the open now. I don't look at anyone around, all of whom have turned to statues. I stay looking right down the lens of the camera. I try to imagine no one else is here because in many ways that is easier.

"To make themselves feel better, my patrons would make presents of money or jewellery, but I found a much more valuable form of payment. Secrets. And this is where you're going to want to stay tuned, President Snow, because so very many of them were about you. But let's begin with some of the others."

"There is Drusus Blume- CEO of Banitus corporation who likes all his numerous sexual partners to bring their pets with them. I guess his passion for animals extends further than his exclusive range of food, cages and other accessories."

I hadn't known it when I first met him- that had also been the first night I had met Johanna and he had been passed out drunk before the party had even finished. I didn't even know what he did at the time but one of my clients had cracked up telling me about when she took her tortoise to his house, thinking it was research for his company but finding out he had other intentions.

"Then there is Cardea Wanless, heiress to the Wanless billions. Her family owns all the railways in Panem. All people who use the railways have to pay both a yearly rate to allow authentication of passes to and from the Capitol and there is a fee per trip which cripples the industry so the Wanless family can gather even more money that they don't need and which will simply sit in their vaults for years to come. They hardly pay for anything anymore, instead relying on their name for free services and commodities. It is pure greed."

"Alabaster and Aqua Tertius- the newsreader and fashion designer- both brother and sister remain unmarried, preferring each other's company instead."

I work my way through Snow's ministers. I tell them how Pontius Tumblewell had to divorce his sick wife and marry Vanessa Partish- one of Snow's inner circle- so he could advance his career. How Magnus and Rufus Lemere murdered their father so they could sell his mansion and use the money to feed their gambling addiction. How Rufus then disposed of his brother later on so he could keep the full amount. I tell them how Livia Bates was the one who started the fire in the Curia building on behalf of the President. She got so badly burnt that she had to have her whole face reconstructed afterwards. I tell them how Blasius used his position to blackmail anyone of importance. Now I have started it feels as though the string of secrets will never end. It is as if I have opened a gate that I can never close again.

"And now, on to our good President Coriolanus Snow, such a young man when he rose to power. Such a clever one to keep it. How, you must ask yourself, did he do it? One word. That's all you really need to know. _Poison."_

I tell them everything I know. How Snow used the praetorians- the very group that was working against his predecessor- to rise to the top and then betrayed them as soon as he became president. I tell them about Septimus Henge and the Henge family's life-long devotion to poison and how Snow uses it to keep control over everyone. The mysterious deaths, the threats, the web of lies and deceit used to cover it all up. I speak of the perfumed roses he uses to the mask the scent of blood as it drips from the sores on his bleeding gums.

Once I have finished there is silence and the camera keeps rolling, Cressida is too surprised to turn it off so it is up to me to give the final word. … "Cut,"

As the crew hurries inside Plutarch wraps his arm around my shoulder and leads me aside.

"That was… remarkable." He tells me. "I had no idea that you-"

"It started as an obsession about a single man but by the time I had found out the truth about Consus Delore I realised I had something even more powerful in my hands."

"Do you… have more stories?" he asks me curiously.

"Too many to count. You'd be surprised what people are willing to share when they think no one important is listening."

Once Plutarch is done with me and we are back inside Dr Sampson grabs my arm. "Finnick, do you think you are prepared for Annie's return?"

"What do you mean?"

"A lot has happened since you last saw each other. For both of you. Things might not be the same as they were when you left. You need to be prepared for-"

"What are you talking about? Things are going to be fine- more than fine. Things are going to be great."

"But-"

"No- I'm sorry but I'm not interested in that right now. Go and deal with some other patient." And I head off. Who does she think she is, anyway? What does she know about me and Annie? Nothng. That's what.

I intercept Katniss on the way to special defence and the pair of us stick together, trying to pass the time as best as we can but nothing can mask our nervousness or our excitement.

At 15:00- when we are told that the plan is going to be set in motion and they are going to use our interviews as a distraction, the pair of us stand tensely at the back of a room covered in screens. Beetee manages to hijack the Capitol airwaves and I am surprised to see that the Capitol struggles to take back their control. It last for about an hour and ends with almost my full account of my attack on Snow.

"Let it go!" Beetee finally says. "If they're not out of there by now, they're all dead. It was a good plan, though. Did Plutarch show it to you?"

"No, they never show us anything," I say.

Beetee leads us through to another room where plans show the underground prison where Annie and the others are being held. He explains how they plan to use a gas to knock out the guards, alongside a power cut to cover their break in. As another distraction they are targeting a government building with a bomb, in hope that it will draw their attention away. I don't get the details and even the gist of it sounds complex.

"Well that's straight forward," I say sarcastically.

Beetee smiles, "It's a good thing. If you two struggle to follow everything that is happening then so will our enemies."

"Like your electricity trap in the arena?" Katniss asks.

"Exactly. And see how well that worked out?"

I can't tell if he is being sarcastic or serious, it is hard to tell with Beetee as usually his jokes are too complex for other people to understand so the humour is lost on them.

After saying goodbye to Beetee we try to position ourselves in command but there is some sort of meeting going on so we aren't allowed in. We are only ever allowed to know things when it suits them. We go to the room with the hummingbirds where at least things feel relatively calm and we are away from other people. We are faced with more waiting. It feels endless. The clock could almost be moving backwards. How long will the plan take? When will we know whether or not it has been a success?

My fingers struggle to make knots as fast as my brain is whirring. I can't keep up. I try not to think about it. I try to consider other things. Dinner. No I'm not hungry. Dr Sampson… her words move round and round. She might not be the same. What can that even mean? She has already returned to me once, altered beyond recognition, surely, even if things have changed, everything will still be alright. We are stronger than this.

I look at the clock again. Is she back yet? I have to know for definite. I have to know one way or the other. Her voice comes to me, screaming out like it did in the arena so I hunch down, holding my hands over my ears. She has to come back. She has to be safe. Please. Please. Please.

"Did you love Annie right away, Finnick?" Katniss' voice reaches me through everything else.

"No." I imagine that day on the balcony back home after I thought she was lost forever but then I turned round and she was there and I just knew that it wasn't the case. "She crept up on me."

It is midnight by the time Haymitch finally comes to get us, "They're back. We're wanted in the hospital."

I slowly sit up but my legs and arms feel incredibly heavy. I can't move.

"That's all I know." Haymitch adds.

I stagger to my feet but even then I feel as though I can't get there. I am desperate to see her, yet at the same time, I am terrified. What if- no… I mustn't question it I have to just go.

It is like walking through a dream. Katniss reaches through the mist and grabs my hand and I let her lead the way.


	142. Chapter 142

"Finnick!" My name is shrieked in a wonderful, perfect, exclamation of sheer joy.

It is like a siren calling me through a dream. I can't believe it is real. I turn and there she is running towards me dressed in nothing but a sheet. "Finnick!"

Suddenly the force that had been weighing me down lifts and I run towards her as well. I have to see her, I have to reach her and prove that this isn't just another cruel dream. I need to feel her in my arms, I need to smell her skin, stare into those deep green eyes. I need the whole picture all at once. My feet can't carry me fast enough. Metres feel like miles. But slowly, oh so slowly, she comes towards me.

We collide midway down the corridor and as she falls into my arms the pair of us collapse against the wall. Suddenly it as if everything that was broken has been repaired. Suddenly I am complete again. Every moment I have spent in District Thirteen has been leading up to this single point.

"I have missed you so much." I manage to whisper into her ear. It isn't enough. It doesn't even come close to explaining what I have gone through in the months since we have been separated but none of that matters any more.

"I've missed you too."

We just hold each other then. And I know that this is the only thing I have ever really wanted in the whole wide world. "I love you, I love you so much."

We stand forever, frozen in our embrace until Dr Sampson approaches us and finally breaks the spell. "Miss Cresta?"

The pair of us twist round to face the doctor but I keep hold of her. I am never going to let her go again.

"I haven't finished my examination," she tells us.

_Examination_? For some reason it hadn't even occurred to me that she might be hurt. Panic clenches my gut and I quickly scan her. No visible cuts, no broken bones..."Is she alright?"

"If you would like to follow me." Dr Sampson says starkly, sternly even, as if she disapproves of us.

She leads us back to a part of the hospital that I know only too well. When we are inside Dr Sampson's office I sit next to Annie on the bed, our hands held tightly together.

"Finnick, if you could give me some space…"

But Annie shakes her head, burying her face in my chest. With a sigh Dr Sampson continues checking Annie over, negotiating her way around the pair of us. I don't care how much harder it makes things, now that I have her back I am never going to let her go.

I am relieved when Dr Sampson seems finally to be done and pulls back, sitting back down in her chair. Thoughtfully she looks at Annie, as if contemplating something that she doesn't fully understand. For a moment the three of us sit in silence and I get the impression Dr Sampson wants to say something but can't quite find the words.

"What is it?" I ask her.

"Annie. I know this may be difficult for you but I need to know what happened to you while you were in the Capitol."

The content smile disappears from Annie's face and she covers her ears with her hands. Just like that she slips away into the same places she goes when reality is too much for her. I can feel her body shaking in my arms.

"What did you ask that for?" I yell at Dr Sampson, "You really want her to think about that now?"

I hold Annie close to me. "It's alright; you're with me now," I tell her, "it's over."

Gradually she calms. Dr Sampson remains in her chair, flicking through her notes one by one, clearly trying to pretend she isn't intruding on us.

I stroke Annie's hair. Whisper to her. Hold her. I can tell that, now the initial burst of excitement from our reunion is behind us, she is exhausted. I wonder when she last got a proper night's sleep.

"I think she should get some sleep now," I tell Dr Sampson.

She nods. "There is a bed set up on the ward. I think it would be best if she stayed there for tonight."

I carry Annie, who already seems to be slipping out of consciousness, through to the ward and I place her down on the bed. She is asleep within seconds. I sit in the chair next to her bed, a silent vigil. I don't care if I get no sleep at all; my only wish is to stay by her side. I watch her constantly, frightened that if I Turin away she will disappear. I need to see her so I can prove to myself that this is real, so I know my days of shadows and fog are behind me.

A few hours later Dr Sampson opens the curtains and, hovers over the bed.

"What now?" I say, "Haven't you done enough?"

"How is she?"

"Sleeping." I tell her, turning away in hope that she will disappear again but she doesn't. She continues to loom over my shoulder like a grey spectre. "Why'd you ask that question before? Why couldn't you just leave it, hasn't she been through enough without you bringing it all up again."

"Finnick," she says softly. "Physically there is little wrong with Annie- a few cuts and bruises. However-"

"She's not mad." No one seems to understand. This isn't madness- not really- this is just the way she copes, how she manages difficult situations. She is not a patient or a test subject or someone who needs to be monitored night and day. She is just Annie and all she needs is to be loved and to be left alone.

"I know." She draws in a breath, "But little is known about exactly what happened to the victors that were captured by the Capitol. There might be psychological ramifications of her imprisonment."

"She's fine. She's with me now. She is going to be OK-"

"Finnick," she sounds very stern now. "When they found her she was naked."

It takes a second for that statement to sink in. Bile rises up from the back of my throat. "You think-"

"I don't know but it is a possibility."

It would be typical of Snow after everything I did to try and protect her from the same fate as me. I look down at her sleeping form. She is so small, so delicate; I can't imagine anyone hurting her but it was naïve of me to think that she could come back to me unscathed. Nobody walks out of these places unharmed. I remember my own time in Capitol prison, how I wanted to shut myself off from the rest of the world afterwards so I had no chance of being hurt again. I remember how desperate I was just to get away from it all.

I'm going to kill him. I don't care. Even if I have to march into the Capitol alone.

"Whatever happened," Dr Sampson continues, "She is going to need our support." She rests a hand on my shoulder. "You should get some sleep as well. You'll be no good for her if you are too tired tomorrow." Then she leaves me.

Eventually I do doze off but my nightmares are full of Snow, his mouth drawn back in a mocking and bloody smile. I have revealed his secrets on camera but he has still won. He has still managed to find a way to trip me up again.

It is Annie who wakes me. She climbs into my lap and curls her body in, resting her head on my shoulder.

"You don't need to be scared anymore," she tells me, planting a gentle kiss on my cheek.

Later that day Dr Sampson lets Annie out the hospital and I make them assign us both new quarters- one big enough for us to share. We move my few belongings into it and then, for the first time in what feels like forever, we are finally left alone.

She sits on the end of our new bed and looks around the room, taking in all the functional storage spaces and blank surfaces that District Thirteen loves so much. I want to ask her if it is true- if Dr Sampson was right about what had happened in the Capitol but Annie just smiles at me, holding out her hand for me to take. She looks happier than I think I have ever seen her, if she had known so much evil how could she forget it so easily? I sit down at her side, taking her hand in mine.

"I've got something for you," I say and I slip the chain off from round my neck and hold it out to her.

"You still have it?" She looks down, amazed by it.

"Of course." I undo the clasp on the chain and let the ring slip off the end. Then I take her hand in mine and slip the ring back onto her finger. "I want you to be mine," I tell her.

"I'm already yours. Always was."

We kiss and I smile all the way through it, even though lingering at the back of my mind is still the same question, still the burning need to know what he did to her. It feels awful that something so repulsive has found its way into this perfect moment but I can't shake it from my mind. I pull back.

"Annie? What happened in the Capitol?"

She bows her head, ready to recoil back into her mind where her little world saves her from everything else and yet she doesn't completely. She draws in a deep breath and tries to steady herself.

"Dr Sampson said that when they found you that you didn't have any clothes on… did they-"

Her eyes drop from mine. "It's over now." She whispers.

Tears cluster in the corner of my eyes and I can't hold them back. How can she still be so together?

"But how could you live with it? How can you bear it?"

"Because you had to. Every time I wanted to disappear I thought of you and everything you have had to put up with from them for me and I thought… I thought this time I can do it and if you can be strong then so can I."

Except I have never realty felt strong at all. I have been shattered and reassembled more times than I can remember. I got through because there was no other choice. I am not the strong hero she thinks I am. I bury my face in my hands, trying to hide the tears that I can longer hold back. I don't want to cry. no don't want to be weak and snivelling. I want to fight. I want justice.

Her arms wrap round me and she presses her lips against mY ear. "It's all over now, though, we don't have to think about it anymore. None of it matters."

"I should kill him. I should destroy him!" I bang my fists against the bed frame. No more tears. I swear I am going to get strong again and I am going to do whatever it takes to bring that man to justice. He will pay for this. He will pay for everything he is done and all the people he has taken from me.

Annie shakes her head. "No more fighting, no more games. This is it now; just you and me."

"But he deserves-"

"He deserves everything he gets but there are bigger things than hatred and revenge. I was scared I was never going to see you again and yet here we are- here you are. For once I think we should just stay together."

I can picture it. We will get married and we will stay in District Thirteen. Katniss and Gale and the others will fight for the cause and change the whole of Panem around us while I stay snug and safe next to Annie. In years to come when there is no such thing as the Capitol and their oppression people will ask me what I did- how I helped to make this country great and all I will be able to say is that I let myself be manipulated and used and thrown around by everyone but when the time came for me to stand up and be counted I didn't. I just stayed at home- safe- while others fought and lost their lives. I don't know how I could ever lift my head up again.

There is too much I need him to pay for, there is too much history here for me to just let it go and now, after everything that has happened to Annie too, I can't just sit by and wait for the world to change. I have to stand up and be counted. I have no choice. But until that time comes I shall enjoy my piece of paradise.

I pull Annie into my arms. "I'm never going to let you go. Never."


	143. Chapter 143

For several days we hardly leave our room and for the most part everyone else gives us space, allowing us to disappear into our own little world. When we go to the dining hall I notice there is no sign of Katniss either. I expect she is busy getting reacquainted with Peeta. It is amazing how much there is to catch up on.

"You should go and see Johanna," Annie tells me. "She will be wondering where you are."

Johanna. I had almost forgotten about her. Somehow everything else has just paled into non-existence since Annie returned. Of course Johanna will be wondering about me, it's not like she has anyone else here.

"Are you going to come too?" I ask her but Annie shakes her head.

"I thought I would go back home for a bit." Home. It surprises me how quickly she uses that word to describe the strange little living quarters that we have been assigned.

"Will you be alright?"

She nods. "I remember the way."

Even though I know where she is and I know the separation won't be for long I still find it very difficult to part from her. For almost the last week we have never spent more than a couple of minutes apart and every time we are separated a sense of panic overwhelms me, which only goes when she reappears. Even when her vision glazes over and she drifts off into her own place I don't mind as long as I can sit next to her and still know that I can reach her again.

As we walk our separate ways I turn and look over my shoulder. She skips down the hallway like a little girl, her arms swinging merrily without a single care in the world.

As I reach the hallway leading up to the hospital I see Plutarch, flustered and agitated rushing in the other direction.

"Hey Plutarch, what's the problem? Lost your Mockingjay? Here's a hint- she's with Peeta."

He stops rushing and turns back to me. "You don't know?"

"Know what?"

"Peeta…. He was hijacked by the Capitol. They tampered with his memories. The first time he was introduced to Katniss he tried to strangle her. She was in the hospital for a few days and when she got out she decided she couldn't take it anymore. She's in Two."

I struggle to take it all in. _Hijacked._ She's in District Two. So much has changed in such a short amount of time. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"We thought it would be best to give you and Annie some space."

"And Johanna?"

"She is still on the ward undergoing extensive therapy. I'm sure she will be pleased to see you, though."

When I see Johanna the first thought that hits me is that it is almost ironic that out of the three it is Annie who has recovered most quickly from their time in the Capitol. Johanna looks a complete state. Her head is shaven, her face is swollen in odd angles from where she has been battered and bruised and oozing scabs run down her arms.

"I wondered when you would bother showing up." I have only just stepped through the door and already her words are dripping with acid.

"Johanna-" but I don't really know what to say. Despite all that has happened to me I still can't imagine how awful it must have been. What they must have done to her to make her look like this. She is wounded- inside and out. She must be scared, confused, and lonely. I should have been prepared for fireworks. When Annie can't cope with something she drifts off into her own space, blocking out everything else so she is safe in her own little bubble. When Johanna can't cope, she explodes.

"I wouldn't worry about it too much, they have me so drugged up I'm surprised I still know my mouth from my arsehole." She looks me up and down. "You look good. I guess you've been having a pretty easy time here, living it up while we rot in the Capitol. You always did have friends in the right places. How much of your soul did you have to sell to be taken here?"

"It wasn't my choice."

"Yeah well…. " I can almost hear her thoughts as she look around for the next attack, anything to distract me from what she is going through. "Bet you spent your time moping about Annie. You should have heard her calling for you. It was pathetic"

I guess she has a right to be sore about it but I wish she could just be happy for me. I wish she could allow me to be glad to have her back- pleased to see my friend rather than hurt by all the things she says.

"I missed you too," I tell her.

"Yeah, like you miss a kick to the teeth."

"I really did."

She snorts dismissively. I guess it doesn't really matter what I say. She just wants someone to vent her anger and frustration at. I should have known that this could never be a straight forward reunion.

"So what now?" she continues. "You two going to get married and live happily ever after?"

"That's the general idea."

"Well that's great isn't it?" she spits sarcastically at me.

"I don't care, Johanna. Think what you want, this isn't about you."

"Then why don't you piss off back to her and leave the rest of us alone?"

"Love you, too." I tell her. I force myself to grin but it doesn't feel quite natural.

"Go to hell!"

"Been there, done that, got the t-shirt."

She lets out an exasperated shriek. If she wasn't attached to so many machines I am sure she would have launched herself at me.

I decide it is time to make an exit. When I reach the door I momentarily turn back. "Get well soon." I say grinning, "If you're a good girl maybe I'll even bring you a balloon."

She shrieks angrily again as I shut the door behind me. There is nothing i could have said or done that could have made things better for her. There is nothing I could have done to save her from the Capitol. It doesn't stop me feeling bad about it, though.

I consider trying to see if they will let me speak to Peeta but if he is really as bad as they say then I doubt they will. Anyway, there is something about the idea of all his memories being changed which makes me nervous. If he attacked Katniss on first sight what would he do to me?

* * *

><p>I don't know what time it is when Annie's screams wake me but I reach through the darkness until I find her and hold her to me.<p>

"It's all right, it's all right." I tell her.

I feel her tears against my chest. I stroke her hair and try to calm her down but she fights against me, still half lost to her dream.

"They killed him," she sobs.

"Who?"

"Hake… they tortured him. I couldn't hear his screams through the wall but I know it was him. I know it. I saw him."

At first I don't understand; why would Hake be in the Capitol when he is meant to be in District Twelve looking after the radio system…. Unless they found him out and that was his punishment.

As Annie continues to cry I turn the light on so we can see each other. She is covered in sweat, her hair stuck to her face and her nightgown knotted around her thin body.

"Well at least he can't hurt him anymore," I say because there it is the best I can do. This is another thing I can't make right.

Poor Hake. He didn't deserve that. I never should have let him get involved with the Praetorians. It would have been better if he stayed at home, maybe things would have been alright, then.

I wonder how many people are still left in Four. If we ever return home will there be anyone waiting for us? What happened to Annie's grandfather? Will the pair of us and Rordan's family be the only ones that remain out of everyone we know? Will it still feel like home without them?

* * *

><p>"Plutarch? May I have a word with you?"<p>

"What is it?"

"I'm engaged." And even though it feels like a strange thing to say I can't help but grin because it means that Annie is mine.

"Congratulations!" Plutarch says, "I'm glad things worked out for you."

"The thing is," I say, "I don't really know a lot about District Thirteen's customs. I mean, ideally we would like a District Four ceremony but-"

Plutarch's eyes suddenly light up. "But this is perfect!"

"What is?"

"This will be our next Propo! Pure entertainment- a celebration. It will popular. Who wouldn't want to watch Finnick Odair tie the knot?" he chuckles at his own little joke. "And Coin will give us a budget for it. It's perfect! What do you say?"

"Er… sure?" I imagine trying to explain to Annie how our wedding is going to be televised to the whole nation.

"Wonderful!" he claps his hands together. "There is so much that needs to be done. So much we need to arrange. I will alert the others immediately! "

And this is how my wedding somehow turns into a District 13 holiday.

A few days later and we are in command to watch Plutarch haggling over the details. Katniss has now returned from District Two so everyone is involved. Annie and I sit side by side, hand in hand watching as the details of our wedding are decided for us.

"Of course we will need a budget," Plutarch begins.

"What for?"

"Flowers, decorations, outfits, music, food, drink, favours…."

Coin's lips thin as she thinks about it. "That sounds more like a party than a wedding. They will have the usual document like everyone else, by all means film it but there is no need for such extravagance."

"But it has to be something that people want to watch! A look to the future a vision of hope and happiness! It can't look bland. " he lists off the 'essentials' for any ceremony. He seems to have a vision of a three-day event fit for any Capitol citizen.

"No dinner, no entertainment, no alcohol," Coin says finally as her bottom line.

"What's the point of the propo if no one's having any fun!" Plutarch yells.

"People will have fun," Coin assures us, "But it will be a _quiet_ ceremony."

But when it starts coming into fruition it is far from quiet. Everyone is involved in making decorations. Children are asked to sing the wedding song from home; chatter fills every hallway and every corridor. We can't go anywhere without people grinning at us in knowing ways- happy we are getting married, happy they are allowed to be involved in the festivities.

Katniss volunteers to help Annie find a dress to wear from a store she has in her home in District Twelve. They won't let me go with them but they promise to see if Peeta has a suit for me to wear as well.

For the first time since arriving in District Thirteen I really feel like I belong- like I am part of something bigger than the small group of refugees who have ended up here.

Despite Coin's suggestions Plutarch is still getting carried away. I have to remind him several times of what ceremonies are like back in District 4; the net woven from long grass that is draped over the couple during the vows, the salt water, and the wedding song… everything that should be part of a wedding. We don't really care about the rest but these things are what matters. If we can't be at home we at least what to feel connected to it.

I ask Rordan if he will conduct the ceremony, thinking he could be someone who is familiar with it, but he gets all shy and says he has never been to a wedding. Luckily Dalton, the guy from District 10 volunteers to do the honours. I spend a few hours talking him through the ceremony and it sounds similar to the one they have in District 10.

Everyone is so excited and there is so much to do that time passes quickly. Soon the only thing left is the ceremony. The night before the wedding I sleep on Haymitch's floor while Annie stays in our room. One more night and then she will be undeniably, indisputably mine.


	144. Chapter 144

Despite all the time we spent planning it, despite knowing what I should expect on the day from Plutarch's agenda, I am still unprepared for it when the time comes.

When I wake up Haymitch is still asleep. I check the time but it is still hours before the ceremony. Yet I know I can't go back to sleep. A ripple of excitement runs through me- that all too familiar feeling that tells me that today is a big day- that today is important. It is one of those days which is going to shape the rest of my life.

I get up as quietly as I can and head for the bathroom for a shower. I spend longer than usual under the water. I imagine it washing away everything that happened before today. I am a new man- Annie's man and it doesn't matter what has come before. This is our new life together and nothing existed before this moment. Nothing of importance, anyway. It is time to finally move on.

I go back to the room; a towel wrapped round my waist, and I begin sorting out my clothes ready. The suit they found me had to be altered so it fits but I don't think anyone would notice that now. A few addec decorative trims and it fits like a glove. I brush my hand across the shoulder, although there is nothing there- it is flawless.

"There had better be something on under that towel, Odair," Haymitch says gruffly from his bed.

"Didn't have you down as being prudish," I tease him as I pull on my underwear, making sure i remain covered at all times.

I decide to dress in ordinary clothes for when I go to the dining hall for breakfast. There is a whole day before the actual cermony begins, after all, and it would be just typical of me to put on my suit and spill my breakfast down it. Best not to risk it.

I slip out as Haymitch rolls over to get some more sleep. I suppose lots of people will be making the most of today to catch up on the sleep they have been missing recently. No schedule means everyone is free for an entire day- well, everyone who can be spared. I guess they are still busy in command. A revolution cannot be put on hold for a wedding.

My suspicions are confirmed about people sleeping in when I find the dining hall is practically empty. I sit alone, my stomach rolling as I force down a few meagre mouthfuls.

After returning to Haymitch's room I try to find something to do but i can't keep still and concentrate so I get ready far too early and head out to roam the corridors.

The wedding is scheduled for about three o'clock which gives me plenty of time to just mill about.I purposefully avoid any of the routes that lead to our quarters, just in case I catch sight of Annie on an ill-timed jaunt. I find Plutarch and ask if there is anything I can do to help but he tell sme everything is under control and I should enjoy the free time before the ceremony. Maybe I could have if I was at home- I could have gone fishing and sailed round to the small cove that is hidden from the shore- but in District Thirteen there is nothing to do. There is no way to fill this empty space except with excited anticipation.

Eventually I just head back to the room. I am grateful to find that Haymitch is awake and I have someone to talk to but still the hours pass slowly and the closer it gets to the ceremony the more nervous I get. Everything in my entire life has been leading up to today.

I am happy when 2 o'clock arrives and Haymitch finally lets me go to the room where the ceremony is to be conducted. Still we arrive long before everyone else and Haymitch gets cross with my constant chattering. As soon as the first guest arrives he moves away from me, clearly feeling his job is done.

I greet the guests one by one- even those I don't really know. Rordan's mother throws herself into my arms in greeting and his dad shakes my hand. Even Johanna is on her best behaviour. She tries to shake my hand but I force her to hug me as well.

"Couldn't you have at least tried to make yourself look presentable?" she says to me.

I am so busy greeting everyone that I am not expecting it when Dalton taps me on the shoulder to tell me that it is time to begin.

I move to the front of the room and turn with my back to the door, waiting for the music to tell me that she has arrived.

Shivers run up my spine as the violin plays it's first note. I wait a second, enjoying this final moment of anticipation. My heart skips a beat as turn to look at her.

She is beautiful. More than beautiful; stunning, exquisite, divine, gorgeous, charming, magnificent… our eyes meet. Her smile broadens and I know my face has twisted into that soppy look that is only for her. The wait had been agony but it has been more than worth it.

We join hands and they place the net over us ready for us to give and receive our vows.

Dalton runs through them slowly, his rich voice narrating this perfect moment as I watch Annie, hardly able to believe that we have finally made it. That we are really here.

"I do," she says, her eyes shining as she looks up at me.

Then it is my turn but still all I can think about is her, all I see is her. The words wash over me and as I promise to always love her and care for her and honour and trust I know there is no promise in the world that will be easier for me to keep.

"I do."

I slip a second ring onto her finger and she gives me my first as the net is lifted. Next the goblets are bought forwards. I touch her lips with the salt water then she repeats the ritual. I taste the tang of the salt on the tip of my tongue and can't resist licking my lips.

Annie's eyes are still fixed on mine. For once she is completely with me. For once I know she is entirely in the room and knows everything that is happening. I wonder if, somewhere in the crowd, Eoghan still lingers, in a way I hope he does because, out of everyon,e he is the one who ought to be here.

Everything is just a dream. It is just as I imagined it would be; the same old traditions that our parents would have had at their weddings. Everything that is important to us is still here, despite the various twists that have found their way in along the way.

We join hands as the choir of children sing the ancient wedding song.

_As their lips share a solemn Oath_

_And their futures they both betroth _

_They sail, they sail on a sea of trust_

_Assured their hold won't turn to rust _

_The days are bright and the sea is still_

_Cruising with a fine wind and goodwill. _

_And should the seas turn stormy and dark_

_Let the ship continue, true of heart_

_They sail, they sail on through the night_

_They keep the rigging sure and tight_

_The days are dark and the sea is rough_

_But with each other they have enough_

_The voyage is long, the aim unclear_

_But those on board have nothing to fear_

_They sail, they sail, to horizons new_

_Chasing adventures with their crew_

_The days are long, the sea is gold_

_And many wonders they do behold_

As they play the closing bars of the song we kiss for the first time as husband and wife. People cheer and throw petals into the air around us and they pass round glasses of apple cider.

As we finally turn towards the crowd, everyone raises their glasses. "To Annie and Finnick, may they have years of happiness together."

"Annie and Finnick!" everyone echoes as they sip from their glasses.

People gather round us, congratulating us, slapping me on the back, telling Annie how beautiful she looks. The whole time I hold her tightly in my arms. I am never going to let her go.

The fiddle strikes up a tune and an old woman grabs Gale by the arm and forces him into the middle of the floor to dance. People follow their lead and form two long lines. I just look Annie in the eye, the largest grin still fixed on my face.

We watch them as they run through the simple joyous steps that they bought with them from District Twelve, how they skip and twist and turn together. It seems to sum up everything about today and everything it means.

After a few songs Katniss grabs her sister by the hand and they dance together, completely oblivious to the rest of the world. For once they are just two young girls giggling and laughing as if they dance in their sitting room at home back before Katniss was pulled into this mess. Instinctively, although I do not know the steps, I know I have to join them. This is our chance to show Snow that we are not broken. That we are strong and we are happy and he cannot break us.

I look at Annie. "Do you want to dance?"

I remember the girl on the beach who wanted me to show her how they danced in the Capitol. I remember swaying with Annie in my kitchen. I remember spinning her round and lifting her up. All our lives we have been dancing together as if something in the universe knew that this day would come.

Shyly she takes my hand and the pair of us join everyone else, trying our best to keep in step. However, as we dance, everyone else slowly retracts giving us more room and the rapid, leaping tune of the fiddle slows to a soft, waltz.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the bride and groom!"

I pull Annie closer to me and together we glide across the floor. It just feels so right, so perfect. No one else fits in my arms the way she does.

I am so lost in the moment, so completely fixed on Annie that it isn't until the fiddle picks up again that I remember about all the guests that surround us.

The dancing continues. We dance, we laugh, we smile- the people from District Twelve teach the steps to everyone else. We form a large circle and spin around the floor as solo dancers perform in the centre. We are silly. We are mad. For once we are all as one. We all feel part of the same District- one great big family

At one end of the room someone wheels out a large cake. People move out of the way so it can be brought forward in front of Annie and me. It is covered in iced waves with fish and sailboats, flowers and seals. It is an absolute piece of art, perfectly encapsulating all that I miss from my home.

Someone hands me a knife and together, with Annie's hand leaning on top of mine, we cut the cake. More cheers. Even, though it is almost a shame to destroy something so perfect we hand out slices and when I bite into mine I find that it tastes as good as it looks.

As the evening draws to a close I feel drunk on happiness, exhausted by the enormity of the day. I throw myself down on the bed and Annie collapses by my side.

"Hello, Mrs Odair," I say to her.

"Hey, Finn," she says back.

I fold her into my arms, unable to believe that someone so wonderful can be mine. "I'm only yours now," I tell her. And for the first time it is true. We are both free. Snow has absolutely no say in this- it was entirely our choice and nobody else's business. Finally we are ready for the rest of our lives.


	145. Chapter 145

"Dr Sampson? You asked for me?" I peer round her door.

She looks up from her desk. "Of course, please, sit down."

I sit on the same chair I sat in for our earlier meetings- the one with the mutilated armrest. I place my hand over the scar, covering it, ashamed that I ruined it, even though it is too late to take it back now.

"Is this going to take long? Annie is waiting back in our room."

"Of course. I just wanted to see how you are getting on. How do you feel?"

"Fine. Great. Better than great."

She frowns, distrusting of my happiness. "Well your processing seems to have improved. How have your mood swings been?"

Moon swings, huh? The way she says it makes me sound like a grumpy teenager. I suppose it is an improvement on the madman she considered me before.

I do a sweeping gesture, she can see me. Let her judge it. She's supposed to be the professional. She looks me up and down but I can tell she doesn't think her analysis conclusive.

"How have you been managing your anger?"

"What anger?"

She lets out a sigh. "And the depression?"

"I told you- it wasn't depression."

She narrows her eyes, still scrutinising me. "Have you been following your schedule?"

"To the letter," I tell her, lifting my arm as if it proves my point. Of course this is the first day since the honeymoon period is over where I have been timetabled to do something more than turn up for meals and 'reflect' but Dr Sampson doesn't need to know that.

"And you have had regular exercise."

I nod enthusiastically. "Just as the doctor ordered," I can't resist winking at her. She recoils, clearly embarrassed.

"And-"

"Look doc, whatever it is I have to do to get this thing removed, I'll do it." I hold up the wristband which still claims I am insane. "I had to get married with this thing on."

She smiles. "I think this should be our last session."

I audibly breathe a sigh of relief. Finally things will be able to return to normal again. Finally my whole life is back on track and I can pick it up in a place not too dissimilar to where I thought I might end up when I was fourteen, before the Games changed everything.

She picks up a pair of scissors, cuts off the band and throws it into the bin.

I get up out the chair, despite having only lost the small plastic band, I feel a hundred times lighter. I hope I never have to sit back in that chair again.

As I walk out the door Doctor Sampson calls me back. "Finnick?"

"Yeah?"

"How's Annie?"

"Oh, you know… perfect." I grin to myself as I close the door behind me. I honestly can't remember being this happy. A burst of sudden energy runs through me. I want to laugh, to skip, to jump- I want to see the sky and yell at the birds and the trees and smell the fresh air.

I look down at my wrist. The purple ink tells me I am supposed to be exercising- perfect. I head up to the surface, eager to see the outside world.

I left Annie reading a book. There had been a slight warning in her voice when I had told her I could try and rearrange the appointment with Dr Sampson and be with her. I guess I have been a little too over-protective recently. She won't miss me for another hour. She is probably pleased to have some space to recharge. She has always been one of those people who like to spend time alone.

When I reach the yard I am surprised to see a group of people running circuits as a trainer barks commands at them. I knew people had training- it had appeared on my schedule before but that was when I was too lost in the fog to know where I was going, let alone to understand what my schedule meant.

I just stand and watch them a while. They are all part of the revolution. Training to make a difference, training so they can stand up to Snow most effectively. My stomach tightens. I should be with them. I have a score that needs settling. I need to make him pay for what he did to me, what he did to Annie and I am not going to be able to do that tucked safely away in District Thirteen. If I stay here, the war will pass me by and I will have done nothing more than made a few propos. I can't let that happen.

I turn round and head straight down to command and bang on the door. I don't care what they are doing. I don't have time to wait until they come to me. I need to be part of this.

When the door opens a puzzled man from Thirteen stands in the doorway.

"What is it?" I hear the president say.

The door opens a little wider allowing me to see inside. They are all sitting round the large table; some maps are shown on the screens with markers on. It looks like a proper war room and, for the first time, I realise this is a proper war- we are proper soldiers and this is our time to fight. They don't call me soldier Odair for no reason.

"I want to fight," My eyes flick round the room until I find Plutarch and I speak directly to him. Out of all of them, he is the one who truly knows what I am capable of; surely he will be on my side.

Plutarch glances to Coin, clearly unsure of how to respond.

I hold up my wrist. "I've been declared sane. I am in good physical condition. I have been training with my trident. I want to fight. However I can. Wherever you need me."

Coin scrutinises me. I wonder if she still sees the madman or if she can look beyond the person I was when we first met to the person I have always been. "I have always done just what has been asked of me." Plutarch nods in affirmation. "I want to make a difference." It is beginning to sound like I am pleading with them now but I don't care. I need to be part of this.

"In just under three weeks troops will be going to the Capitol. Providing you attend training and the Assignment board deems you fit then I think you could be an asset," Coin says. I am still just an asset to her; the difference now is that I am a valuable one.

It is only as I leave command that I realise the impact of what I have just done, what standing up to Snow actually means. No sooner than everything is sorted I have found a way to complicate it again. But there is no other option. I can't ignore what I have to do. It is my duty. It is what everyone has been fighting for all these years.

It's not like I could take Annie with me, though... Agreeing to this means more separation. Hopefully it won't be long... then afterwards we will still have the rest of our lives together and we can both be proud that I stood up for what is right… I might not tell her yet, though. Why ruin the next three weeks? I shouldn't lie to her- not again and I will tell her before I have to go. Just not yet.

The next morning at 7:30 I tell Annie that I am scheduled for training- I just don't specify what sort. She wearily rolls over in the bed and mutters something I don't quite make out. If she asks about it later I will tell her it is exercise. Since she returned from the Capitol the doctors told her to take things easy- to regain her strength a bit at a time. We go for walks together but nothing more strenuous than that. At least it makes sense for our schedules to be different.

The next problem is making sure no one else spills the beans. I can't help but sigh. I thought I had finished dealing in lies.

After being declared fit for duty I head out to the yard to join the rest of the group in training. It is a relief when I find that Gale is the only familiar face. Less people I know; less people to tell Annie.

"Where are the others?"

"Katniss and Johanna were assigned a different group to train with. They have to prove themselves before they allowed in to the Capitol. We're in the accelerated group headed straight there" He gives me a look that seems to say 'are you sure you should be here'.

I puff out my chest, making sure he can see my muscles. There is no way I am going to let him get the better of me. He may have been training all the time he has been in Thirteen but I am a victor and I am still in pretty good shape, despite recent setbacks.

The trainer barks for us to start running. We do, running side by side. Gale grins at me, "Do you think you are going to be able to keep up, old man?"

He suddenly speeds up, obviously intending to leave me in his wake but I also pick up the speed. God, I wish I had taken Doctor Sampson's advice about exercise; not for the endorphins but just for this moment- just to show Gale I'm not past it.

Although I feel ridiculously out of shape I do catch up with him. "Not bad for an 'old man', eh?" I keep up the same speed running alongside him, "Look, do me a favour, though, will you? I haven't told Annie about the training yet. I don't want to-"

"No problem," Gale assures me, "My lips are sealed." From somewhere he masters another burst of energy and speeds in front of me. This time I don't try to catch up.

I am pleased when training is over. I go to our room and pick up Annie on the way and we walk hand-in-hand to the dining hall.

"Where have you been all day?" She asks.

"They wanted me to film some more propos." It isn't a lie. They filmed as we practised shooting in the range. They want to show us preparing for war- prove that we are still fighting. "Did you have a nice day?" I ask her.

She nods. We walk in silence for a while then she finally looks up at me. "When are we going to go home?"

"Soon," I promise her, "As soon as this is all over." If we head out in three weeks, surely the whole thing will be over in a few months. With all the soldiers from all the districts it's not like the Capitol will have much chance of defeating us. They relied on us for everything. Without the districts they will soon fall.

"Good," she says. "I can't wait to see Eoghan again."

"He's not here?"

She shakes her head. "I guess he doesn't like to travel."

She becomes very quiet after that and when we reach the dining hall she doesn't even look at the food which is placed on her tray. I direct her over to the emptiest table where just one young girl sits and I place the tray down in front of her.

"I'm Delly," the girl introduces herself, "I already know who you two are. Congratulations on your wedding."

I thank her, all too aware that Annie has left the room. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to leave her alone today, after all. I wish I could call her back to me but it would seem rude to ignore Delly so I decide to lead the conversation to familiar stories and anecdotes in hope that it will do the same job.

As I start to tell Delly about the time when me and Eoghan used to pretend to save Annie from drowning we are joined by Katniss and Johanna who are also clearly fresh from training. As they sit down I squeeze Annie's hand, hoping she comes out of her dream. But she doesn't. Not even when I tell everyone about the time the sea turtle swam off with my hat.

I am aware of a sudden shift in atmosphere when Katniss starts choking on her food.

"Peeta!" Delly says brightly "It's so nice to see you out and about."

Guards linger behind him as he stands awkwardly looking at us. This is the first time I have really seen him since his return from the Capitol. Maybe it is because I know he has been hijacked, or maybe there really is a difference, but somehow something just doesn't feel quite right. I pull Annie a little closer. And, for the first time since entering the dining hall, she actually looks at me.

"What's with the fancy bracelets?" Johanna asks.

"I'm not quite trustworthy yet. I can't even sit here without your permission."

"Sure he can sit here. We're old friends. Peeta and I had adjoining cells in the Capitol. We're very familiar with each other's screams."

Annie covers her ears. I throw Johanna a look and pull Annie into my arms. It is just typical that as soon as she comes back to me, Johanna should send her away again.

"What? My head doctor says I'm not supposed to censor my thoughts. It's part of my therapy."

"Come on, Annie, it's alright," I whisper, "I'm here. Nothing is going to happen to you. Come back to me."

Everyone else sits in utter silence. Some of the others pretend to eat.

"Annie…" I smooth the back of her hand and her eyes slowly open. "It's me. I'm here." She lowers her hands and I hold them both in mine, willing her to stay with me.

"Annie, did you know it was Peeta who decorated your wedding cake? Back home, his family ran the bakery and he did all the icing." If Delly is aware of the atmosphere she doesn't show it.

Annie, cautiously looks round the table but her eyes don't quite meet Peeta's as she says. "Thank you, Peeta. It was beautiful."

"My pleasure, Annie."

That is enough. I think we need to leave. "If we're going to fit in that walk, we better go." I pile one tray on top of the other and take Annie's arm with my free hand. "Good seeing you, Peeta." I add, although I don't really mean it. If there is one thing Annie doesn't need it is a reminder of her time in the Capitol.

"You be nice to her, Finnick. Or I might try and take her away from you." Peeta says and it doesn't sound like a joke. Flat, cold, pointed. It sounds almost threatening. Whoever this boy is, it isn't the Peeta I got to know in the arena. For a moment I consider hitting him but then I remember he is sick, that this isn't his fault.

I force a smile onto my face and speak to him through gritted teeth. "Oh Peeta, don't make me sorry I restarted your heart."

I lead Annie away as fast as I can. I think we may enjoy our meals alone in future.


	146. Chapter 146

To prove I am ready to be a solider they are making me take tests. They already made sure I am physically able to undergo the training and combat but there is also a tactics exam, weapons proficiency and the Block.

I don't really know what to expect before they sent me in to the Block except that it is designed to test my weaknesses.

As the simulation begins I notice I am in the middle of a street in the Capitol. Within seconds I notice some sort of gas rolling towards us across the ground. I pull on my mask and follow the rest of my squad round to a side alley where we crouch out of sight until it passes.

As the air begins to clear I can't help but notice the names on each of the uniforms; Mason, Everdeen, Hawthorne. I guess it is just one of those things they have done to make the situation feel more real. I guess there is a chance that we will end up in the same group together.

Our commander ushers us forward and we half crouch, half stand upright as we follow each other down the alleyway. Behind us gunfire blisters the air, as if something is chasing us but I can't see any peacekeepers.

"We need to find cover," the commander tells us. On the hologram they point out a building which we are going to head for.

Footsteps echo behind us and we take off at a pace. "Stay together," the commander orders. "Stay in formation."

We skirt round the corner, our weapons poised in case we meet any peacekeepers. The building isn't too far away. The mission seems pretty straight forward- almost too easy- but then a pod explodes just by Johanna. She is thrown across the street, suddenly left wide out in the open. She struggles to get up. We have to get her. I hear the peacekeepers beginning to storm the area. The commander signals for us to turn back on ourselves and cut down another road out the way. It's then that I realise they are just going to leave Johanna behind. There is a chance I could rush in and get her, the peacekeepers haven't reached her yet. She is moving, I can see her arms trying to pull herself up but she can't quite manage it. As the rest of my squad starts to move away I decide to go for her.

Then I realise what this is. My weakness- the people I care for. They have seen me spend months losing myself over Annie- of course they would see this as my weakness.

Although I am desperate to save her I remind myself that this isn't real. Leaving Johanna there now is not the same as leaving her in a real battle. I will see her again. She isn't really hurt. That isn't really Johanna. If I am going to get to the Capitol I need to show them that I will follow orders and not rush off dangerously.

I pull myself round and follow the others. The rest of the mission is pretty straight forward and when we reach the cover I see the exit and I leave the simulation.

"Good work, solider," a man greets me on the other side and writes down something on a form. I guess I passed this test.

Next I move on to weapons proficiency- something I am naturally feel pretty good at. The session passes pretty quickly and I almost start enjoying myself.

I fire another round, taking down another three targets. Even without my trident I am pretty deadly. Each crack of gunfire is another hole punched through Snow's defences, another enemy soldier taken down.

When the session is over I return the gun to the trainer and head out with the rest. It is only when I cross the threshold that I see her.

"Annie?"

"What are you doing here?" she asks, I can already see tears forming in the corner of her eyes. Some of the other soldiers pass us by giving me inquisitive looks.

I know Annie can see into the room behind me, see the dummies covered in bullet holes. I know she must have heard the shots ringing through the air. There is no lying to her this time.

As Soldier Hamilton passes I pull him aside. "I'm going to have to miss the rest of training this morning," I whisper under my breath.

"If you want to continue in this programme-"

"It's an emergency," I glance towards Annie, hoping he will understand. She is visibly shaking, her eyes darting, clearly spooked as she watches the soldiers pass by. I know solider Hamilton knows who she is, like everyone else he was there at the wedding.

"Alright, Soldier Odair, but I expect you back this afternoon."

I nod. At least this gives me a chance to explain. It will be alight once she understands; she will see why I am doing this, why it is so important.

"We won't discuss this here," I tell Annie. I can still feel their eyes on me, all of them eager to get a good look in.

We walk back to our room in silence. From the look on her face I can't tell what she is thinking. I wonder if she is going to attack me like when we found out about the Quarter Quell. Instinctively I look round the room but there is nothing she could use as a weapon.

"I know I should have told you." I begin trying to explain but she sinks hopelessly down on the bed, not even looking at me.

"I should have known you couldn't just leave it," she whispered. "I shouldn't have told you."

As she speaks I can't help but think of the parade of people who used me over the years. I see their faces looming above me, hear their moans, smell their sweat and even though they are probably nothing alike my experiences become her experiences and I picture her there, so small, so vulnerable and hatred rises up from my stomach and sits in my throat. This is why I have to fight them. This is why I have to put an end to it. It wasn't enough for him to own me, to control my every move, he had to own her as well.

I sink down on the bed next to her.

She breathes out a deep sigh, breaking the silence. "You're going away again." It's Matter-of-fact, resigned.

I reach for her hand but she pulls it away, turning her face away from me as her shoulders begin to shake. I want to hold her. I want to tell her it is going to be alright but I know she will just push me away again.

"I really thought you'd stay," her voice shakes as she says it. This is awful. The way she says it- the way it hangs in her voice, her shoulders, it is as if I am already gone.

"I'm still here," I croak.

"It's not even like I have a choice to go too. Who would let me go? Poor Annie, poor mad Annie what good would she be on the front line? It doesn't matter that I believe in it as much as you do- as much as any of you. I have no choice but to watch you go. Poor weak, Annie. Poor useless Annie. My parents are gone, Eoghan is gone, Mags is gone… Who knows what has happened to Grandfather? What am I going to do when you're gone? What is left here, anymore?" She crumples completely, she pulls her knees up onto the bed and her head collapses onto them.

It is too much. I can't stand it. "Maybe I should just-"

Annie shakes her head, "You can't offer to stay- not now. I can't be that person who stops you from going. You have to do this. I know you do, I just hoped… " She lets out another sigh.

"I'm not going yet," I assure her, "And when I do it won't be for long. It isn't like before. It will all be over in a month and I'll come back to you and we'll go home."

"Home… yes… " She is still crying. She is still shaking but, as I realised before, she was already resigned to it. She already understood why I have to go, why there is no way she could convince me otherwise. I guess there is just a difference between knowing something deep down and having it confirmed to you.

* * *

><p>It is only once we are all called into Command and we meet the rest of our squad that everything begins to feel real. They line us up against the wall and Boggs stands before us.<p>

"Welcome squad 451, I am your commander," he says. I look down the line. Gale is also here and five District Thirteen soldiers that I vaguely recognise from training. It is a relatively small group but judging by the fact that we have been herded into Command and Boggs is our officer I can only assume that they have some sort of special purpose in mind for us. "This is a special unit of sharpshooters, over the course of this session your duties shall become clearer. Plutarch, who is familiar with what we will be up against in the Capitol, is going to provide a presentation."

The door bursts open and Katniss launches herself into Command.

Boggs shakes his head. "Let's see it." She holds out her hand and Boggs can't help but smile, "You're with me. It's a special unit of sharpshooters. Join your squad." Excitedly she joins the group, filling in a gap between me and Gale.

Plutarch begins to explain what it is like in the Capitol from a combat perspective then he presses a button which makes a holographic display of the Capitol appear.

"This, for example, is the area surrounding one of the Peacekeepers' barracks. Not unimportant, but not the most crucial of targets, and yet look." He keys in a code which makes some colours flash up on the hologram. "Each light is called a pod. It represents a different obstacle, the nature of which could be anything from a bomb to a band of mutts. Make no mistake, whatever it contains is designed to ether trap or kill you. Some have been in place since the Dark Days, others developed over the years. To be honest, I created a fair number myself. This programme, which one of our people absconded with when we left the Capitol, is our most recent information. They don't know we have it. But even so, it's likely that new pods have been activated in the last few months. This is what you will face."

I can't believe what I am seeing. Katniss instinctively moves forward and I go to stand at her side. It is uncanny. I feel like I am looking at a plan for a new arena. The pods are the Gamemaker's traps. My hand reaches out and I touch one of the red glowing lights that hang over a doorway.

"Ladies and Gentlemen…." I begin under my breath.

"Let the Seventy-sixth Hunger Games begin!" Katniss yells. It quickly turns into laughter but we both know that this isn't a joke.

"I don't even know why you bothered to put Finnick and me through training, Plutarch." She says.

"Yeah, we're already the two best-equipped soldiers you have."

"Do not think that fact escapes me." He waves his hand dismissively. But now I understand why nobody put up much protest when I told them I wanted to join the war. I understand why I was put through the accelerated programme. Unlike Katniss and Johanna I wasn't injured or weakened by my experiences since the arena and I already had most of the training I needed anyway. "Now back in line, Soldiers Odair and Everdeen. I have a presentation to finish."

Despite the confidence that we project I imagine Katniss is as disturbed by the arena as I am. I thought it might be different this time but it is just another Games to be won. They probably bought us here to watch us freak out, to prove that we can't handle facing it again but we both keep it under control.

As we leave Command I linger back a while until Katniss exits as well. She is the only one who understands exactly what we just saw.

"What will I tell Annie?" If I tell her the truth I know she will freak out. It won't just be the nervous dread that has balled up in the pit of my stomach but pure fear. We don't talk about the Games.

"Nothing. That's what my mother and sister will be hearing from me."

"If she sees that holograph-"

"She won't. It's classified information. It must be. Anyway, it's not like an actual Games. Any number of people will survive. We're just overreacting because- well, you know why. You still want to go, don't you?"

She says it and it almost feels as though she is testing me. "Of course. I want to destroy Snow as much as you do." If not more so. Katniss has had two years of his games, I have had over ten.

"It won't be like the others. This time Snow will be a player too." That's true and I am almost guarantee he is not going to be a victor. There are too many people gunning for his blood.

Haymitch approaches us. "Johanna's back in the hospital."

I cringe. I haven't seen much of Johanna lately. Between training and spending time with Annie I have neglected my friends.

"Is she hurt? What happened?" Katniss asks.

"It was while she was on the Block. They try to ferret out a soldier's potential weaknesses. So they flooded the street."

It don't understand why that would be a weakness. Johanna knows how to swim. She has never had problems with water before. Obviously Katniss is equally confused as she says. "So?"

"That's how they tortured her in the Capitol. Soaked her and then used electric shocks. In the Block she had some kind of flashback. Panicked, didn't know where she was. She's back under sedation."

I hadn't even thought about it. Again, I had been so busy thinking about Annie, worrying about Annie, that I was completely blind to what had happened to Johanna. I should have realised, especially after what they did to me while I was imprisoned. I don't know what to say. Guilt twists my stomach. I wish I could turn back the time and spend some more of it with Johanna- to help her get through it but it is too late for that now. I guess I am a lousy friend.

"You two should go see her. You're as close to friends as she's got."

Even worse. I even knew that. That girl has no one in the world other than us and we have let her down.

"I better go tell Plutarch." Haymitch says, "He won't be happy. He wants as many victors as possible for the cameras to follow in the Capitol. Thinks it makes for better television."

"Are you and Beetee going?"

"As many young and attractive victors as possible. So no. We'll be here."

Once Haymitch is gone me and Katniss exchange glances. "I'm going to go down there," I say.

Katniss nods. "I'll be there later."

It is a silent mutual agreement to try and do better for Johanna. To try and make up for what we didn't see before. I just hope it is enough.


	147. Chapter 147

I grab Johanna's hand. She is still asleep but I'm desperate for her to wake up because I want to tell her how sorry I am and what a self-involved jerk I've been.

When she sleeps her tough exterior is no longer there and she looks as small and as vulnerable as Annie. I always think of Johanna as someone who can take care of herself, someone who doesn't need help but I guess that's a lie, everyone needs help, whether or not they are willing to accept it.

She begins to stir, twisting in her sleep, her knuckles turning white as she grabs onto her pillow. A nightmare; it has to be. I gently slip my arms under her and pull her up so I am cradling her body. She lets out a gasp as she wakes, like someone emerging from the sea after holding their breath for a long time. She starts to fight me but I hold her firmly in my arms and her eyes briefly rise to look at mine and I feel her relax.

"They won't let me go," she croaks.

"I know."

"But I need to. I need to show him- I need to kill him!" the old bite starts to punctuate her words again.

I hold her close to me. She feels like a ragdoll in my arms. I can tell she is still fighting against the drugs. If I am going to say my bit I will have to get it out now. "I'm sorry," I whisper into her ear. "I should have been here. I knew what it was like and I-"

"What could you have done anyway?"

"I just… I just should have been there."

"I'm just… just useless. I can't even see this through to the end. They'll just have me stuck here until it's all over."

I know how she feels. I know how awful it is when, on top of everything else, they tell you no. After all that hard work, all that training and they still won't let her go to battle. Even though it is all she has ever really known. Even back in Seven when she was in the community home with her sister I bet she was a fighter. Sometimes a soldier isn't just someone in a uniform who is sent to battle, some people are born soldiers. You don't stop being a solider just because you are injured.

"There is something you could do- for me." As I say it I have the image from the hologram in my mind; the knowledge that they may call this a war but really it is just another Games.

Our eyes meet again. "Annie?"

I nod. "I know you two have never really got on but… but I would feel better if I knew you were looking after her. She is brave and strong but she doesn't have your fight."

I can tell she is about to cry so I hold her a little closer., burying her face in my chest. We stay there a little while in what has to be the most intimate moment of our friendship.

"I'll look after her every day until you get back," she whispers. "I promise."

As Johanna begins to drift again under the drugs I lay her back down on the bed and slip from the room. I hope that by giving her job- something to focus on- she will find a way through this and not feel so useless anymore.

As I head back to my room to tell Annie as little as possible about what it is going to be like in the Capitol I bump in to someone coming in the opposite direction.

"Sorry," I murmur and keep going.

"Finnick!" I turn. It's Rordan, hair buzzed back to his scalp, military uniform. I guess I'm not the only one who is going to the Capitol. "What squad have you been assigned to?"

"451- sharpshooters," I tell him, "What about you?"

"398- communications." He grins proudly.

I can't help but mirror his grin as I remember finding him on my property as he tapped into my phone calls. "Sounds strangely fitting," I quip.

"Yeah…" he shuffles from one foot to the other, looking embarrassed. "Anyway, I had better go tell my parents…"

They train them so young. It almost seems excusable with Katniss- she has already done so much that she has lost what childhood she had and Gale isn't much better after what he had to do back in Twelve. Although Rordan is no younger than either of them in years in experience he seems vastly different. I guess the revolution is willing to use any soldiers they can get. In that way they are no different from the Capitol. They will also gladly sacrifice children to the Games.

* * *

><p>Annie sighs again. She hasn't asked me about training since she found out about it. We move our separate ways during the day and converge in the evenings where we hold each other tight and talk about things that once were and someday may be. We don't talk about what is happening now so I am surprised when she says. "It is so quiet here." Present tense. Right now.<p>

It seems like an odd thing to say when the one thing that has struck me since I moved into this underground bunker is the constant hum of electricity that fills every silence.

"What do you mean?"

"No one else is really here. Just you and me. I miss the others." she pauses, considering her words, "I think Eoghan might really be gone this time." She says it without sadness and I don't really know what to make of it, what she expects me to say. Eoghan has been dead for five years and, as present as he has remained in our lives and as much as I miss him, I accepted that he is gone a long time ago. I may sometimes talk to Annie about him as though he is just sitting in the next room but he exists no where but in my heart and memories.

She shifts on the bed, curling her body in to mine. "Maybe… while you are gone I could start writing. There are all those stories- all the ones my mother told me, the ones I have told to you- all the stories from home and I don't think anyone has ever written them down before. I think, if I started writing, maybe things wouldn't be so quiet."

"I think that's a really good idea."

She smiles softly, serenely, and her gaze drifts off to the side. Maybe if she starts writing things down I will start to see where she goes, I will understand why she is so difficult to find sometimes and I will understand that place which makes her feel safer than anywhere else in the world.

"So what did Dylan do next?"

"After he saw the monster again and disappeared into the waves?"

"Yeah, what happened after that?"

"He vanished, never to be see again."

"Did he die?"

She shakes her head. "I don't think he can."

"Then what happened?"

"I always thought… my mother used to tell me this story on the beach and I used to look out at the ocean and I would see the white foam as it galloped towards the shore, the sparkle of the sun on the surface and the sound the sea makes. The gradual hush and roar as it drags back and forth. It's silly but… that's where I always thought he was. He defeated the monster and then turned back into the ocean."

She wiggled down a little bit as if trying to hide herself. "Sometimes I used to talk to him. I used to ask him to bring my father back to me. I once asked him to keep you safe. I don't know. I just like to imagine he watches over us somehow."

I kiss her forehead. "Then that's what I think too."

"The sea is very forgiving. It doesn't remember things like we do. I hope it made him feel better about it. Sometimes when the thunder and lightning split the sky and the winds whip the waves upwards I imagined that was Dylan was still fighting the monster, still trying to make things right."

* * *

><p>On the range we practice shooting at peacekeeper dummies and get to know each other more as a group. We are halfway through practice when Plutarch joins us.<p>

"Squad Four-Five-One, you have been selected for a special mission. We have numerous sharpshooters, but rather a dearth of camera crews. Therefore, we've hand-picked the eight of you to be what we call our 'star squad'. You will be the on-screen faces of the invasion."

Great. Everything is just as it is always has been. It doesn't matter about what skill I have they are still just going to use me as a pretty face- a recognisable face to parade on television. All looks and no substance. A stereotype I have been fighting against for a lifetime.

"What you are saying is, we won't be in actual combat." Gale asks.

"You will be in combat, but perhaps not always on the front line. If one can even isolate a front line in this type of war."

"None of us wants that." I pipe up and I am met with agreement from the rest of the group. "We're going to fight." I am not going to let them take this away from me just so they can film some more propos. We are not film stars we are trained soldiers.

"You're going to be as useful to the war effort as possible. And it's been decided that you are of most value on television. Just look at the effect Katniss has running around in the Mockingjay suit. Turned the whole rebellion around. Do you notice how she's the only one not complaining? It's because she understands the power of that screen."

I look at Katniss with surprise as I thought she would be the first to speak up.

"But it's not all pretend, is it? That would be a waste of talent." She asks, her voice is strangely calm, not as affronted as the rest of us.

"Don't worry; you'll have plenty of real targets to hit. But don't get blown up. I've got enough on my plate without having to replace you. Now get to the Capitol and put on a good show."

We're still not happy but I guess there is a chance we can turn things around once we get there. There is nothing to say we can't be assigned another mission when the cameras are turned off.

"How long have we got until we go?" I ask Plutarch.

"We ship out tomorrow morning. I expect you all to be ready at 8:00 sharp."

At that he leaves the range, leaves us to take out our frustration on the dummies. My anger, however, is soon replaced by longing. Tonight is going to be my last night with Annie before I go to the Capitol. I am going to have to make the most of it. I am not looking forward to telling her, though.


	148. Chapter 148

As I walk back to our quarters I try to figure out exactly what I am going to say to her, how to word it in a way where she won't end up hating me at the end of it. I don't want to spend tonight sad or bickering. I don't want to remember her that way. I want to enjoy our last hours together before we meet again.

We have a mission, we leave in the morning.

Somehow it just doesn't feel right, it isn't adequate. She knew this moment would come but I want it to be as easy as possible. I don't want to feel like a jerk by the end of it.

I linger outside the door, still wondering what is going to slip out my mouth when I see her. I'm not going to mention the pods or the layout of the streets or how Plutarch, in a former life, added to the host of pods that are waiting to destroy us. I don't want it to seem too heavy. This isn't a last goodbye; this is just a temporary one until I return. We have parted a thousand times before. Our relationship has grown out of separation and goodbyes. But it is different this time. I have already lied to her about this once, after I promised to stay with her as well. Our wedding was meant to mark a change, to put an end to goodbye, yet there is no way I can walk away from this. There is too much left unfinished.

I push open the door.

She greets me with a smile. "I've been waiting for you to get back." She gets to her feet and throws her arms around my neck. "I tried to find you earlier but you were in Command and they said I wasn't allowed in."

I'm glad they didn't let her in. They were giving us more details of exactly where they are going to send us in the Capitol, how they are planning to film the propos. The idea is to disguise the fact that we have the plan and make it look as though we are casually mine sweeping the area. That means that we are going to have to hit a few pods to throw them off track. The ones we set off are going to be carefully selected so we are ready for them but still, it isn't without some element of danger.

"Well, I'm here now," I say as I lift her up to my height and kiss her. Out of focus I watch her, the smile doesn't fade from her face for even a second, her eyes don't wander from mine, and she is completely and utterly here.

As I put her down again she takes my hand and leads me over to the bed where we both sit side-by-side, perched on the very end of the bed.

"So what did you want to tell me about?"

Her eyes sparkle, knowingly. "I don't know," she says, "Since you've had some secrets recently maybe I should keep some of my own…"

"That's not very fair."

"I'll tell you what. If you tell me one of your secrets I'll tell you mine."

Immediately my head jumps to the mission, to the pods, the arena, that we are leaving tomorrow but I still can't bring myself to say it. "Well… how about…." I lean over her as I pretend to think so she is forced to lie back on the bed. "How about…." I clamber over her, and lightly kiss her nose. "How about that I love you?"

She giggles, slithering out from under me, "That's not a secret. Everyone knows that."

"Oh do they?" I quirk an eyebrow, "And just how might they know that, Mrs Annie Odair?

She giggles again, "You have to tell me a real secret."

I come towards her again, "Alright, alright… how about… I'm so hungry I could just gobble you up?" I pretend to eat her neck.

She pouts slightly," That's not a real one either."

"You're difficult to please, aren't you?" I tease. I let out a sigh. "How about I don't have any secrets anymore because I already told you everything?"

"Alright." She says rolling her eyes. "If you say so…" I can tell she doesn't believe me but she doesn't push me for answers. She just sits back on the bed, resigned to the fact that she doesn't know everything, that she may never know everything. I really wish it could be different. I really wish there didn't always have to be this divide between us but the truth dies on my lips.

"So what's your secret?"

"As you didn't play fair I am going to make you look for it."

"Look for it?" I look around, I hadn't imagined it could be something to find. "At least give me a clue?"

"It's in this room," she says smiling.

OK. I'll play her game. I take a step off the bed.

"Colder." She immediately says.

"It's on the bed?" I lean one knee on the covers.

"Warmer."

I move down to the far end of the bed.

"Colder."

I can't help but grin. I can see where this is going. I slowly crawl towards her on my hands and knees, pausing every so often so she can say- "Warmer."

As I lean over her she whispers, "Boiling."

This is my sort of game. I lean further up to kiss her but when I pull back I am met with – "Colder."

Puzzling… I lean back again so my head is more level with her chest. "Warmer."

I glance over her clothes but I can't see anything obvious. I guess it is something beneath them… I lean up to kiss her again.

"Colder," she squeaks again.

"I don't care!"

I tuck my fingers under the bottom of her shirt and begin to roll it upwards. "Warmer." She lets me pull it off over her head, exposing her.

"You know, this isn't really a secret, I've seen this before…"

She smacks me lightly on the arm. "_That _isn't the secret."

"Oh." Suddenly I'm confused. I thought this was all just some elaborate precursor to sex. "Then where's the secret?"

She grabs hold of my hand, "Right," she rests it over her abdomen, "There." She lies flat on the bed and watches my expression as it finally begins to sink in. "Sometimes the secret isn't sex, Finn… but sex helps." She laughs again.

I don't know what to say. Out of everything I never…. "A baby… my baby…"

I can't move, I can't think. I feel like that electric shock must have done something to my brain again because I just can't quite process the information.

Annie sits up, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah… I just… I didn't expect it." I don't quite know whether to laugh or cry. Now when I leave it isn't just be Annie I leave behind it is a child as well. A whole future on hold until I return. "There is something I have to tell you…"

Annie wraps her arms around my shoulders, suddenly concerned. "What?"

It lingers on the tip of my tongue. I need to say it. I have to say it but if I do it will ruin this moment. It will ruin this evening and all the memories of it. She won't be able to forgive me keeping it from her. I should have told her as soon as I came in. I should have made it clear from the start but now…

"I love you, Annie- so much. You know that, don't you?"

"I love you too," she sayHershey rests her cheek against mine.

Together we fall back on the bed, our heads falling short of the pillow but our limbs completely entwined.

"The baby will grow up in District Four and I'll teach it to fish and make nets and how to swim and we'll collect shells on the beach…." I can already see it in my mind. That little hand held tightly in mine, the golden sun warming our skin. No threats hanging over us. No need to teach the child how to fight or survive because they will be safe. I can just be a fisherman like my dad and Annie will write her stories. There is bright, kind future ahead of us.

Annie lets out a soft sigh, "That sounds nice."

We fall asleep in each other arms but I alone wake in the early hours of the morning. As carefully as I can I slip out our bed and head to the shower. All the time I can hear myself thinking- I have to tell her, she needs to know where I've gone.

As I put on my uniform I watch her- so happy, so peaceful- so caught up in the magic of last night. I don't want to ruin it now.

I sit down at the desk and pull a piece of paper out of the writing set they provided us with. What words could I possibly write now which will make things alright? There is nothing which could make this up to her but there has to be something to make her understand.

I write a few sentences then cross them out. I try a few more but every combination of words seems inadequate. There is no way to truly explain my motive for not telling her the truth but I have to write something.

Slowly, carefully, the words come to me and I write them down. When I am done I grab the paper in one hand and my pack in the other. I lean over the bed and kiss her forehead.

"Goodbye Annie," I whisper, "I'll see you when we're free."

It feels wrong to leave. Very wrong but I have no choice. Once I step out the door of our quarters something tells me that I ought to turn back, that I should stay with her instead- make sure she and the baby are safe but I have a job to do. I need to find an end to this. We all need this to end- once and for all.

I take one more glance at my message- I really hope she understands. Then I slip it under the door. Hopefully she will find it in the morning.

As I head out towards the rendezvous point I can hear my own words echoing round in my head. I try to imagine what Annie will look like when she reads them, how she will feel- I know she will sad but I don't have any choice and I will be back. Annie, I promise will be back.

The message plays round and round and the more I hear it the more I know there is nothing more I could have said and nothing better either;

_If this is the last night we spend together_

_I hope time is kind, _

_And the hours are long_

_And we don't feel it is gone too soon_

_Although I know we will_

* * *

><p><em>If this is the last night we spend together<em>

_Then I hope I can make you smile_

_And laugh _

_Just like we used to do_

_Because I don't want to spend it crying_

* * *

><p><em>If this is the last night we spend together<em>

_Then I want to spend it dreaming_

_Imagining our future together_

_When I can hold you in my arms again_

_And know that you are mine_

* * *

><p><em>If this is the last night we spend together<em>

_Then I want you to know that I will remember_

_Every look, every word, _

_every feeling, every thought_

_I'll carry it with me_

* * *

><p><em>If this is the last night we spend together<em>

_Then I want you to be brave_

_And find a way to carry on, _

_No matter what_

_Because I will be with you_

* * *

><p><em>If this is the last night we spend together<em>

_Then I want you to know that I love you_

_Because you make me love you_

_That I can't help but love you_

_And that I always will. _


	149. Chapter 149

For the first few days I begin to wonder why I even bothered coming as it is so obvious that they are never really going to let us fight. All we do is shoot at things that don't matter, get rejected for actual missions and hang around the rebel encampment.

On the fourth day Leeg 2 receives a dart to her brain after firing at a mislabelled pod. They caught the whole thing on camera but I doubt they are going to be using the footage any time soon. There is something a little too Hunger Games about filming as people die. I guess we had become complacent. It doesn't exactly feel like war when we are seeing less action than we did in training.

They tell us we will get a replacement soon but the following evening we find the replacement isn't quite what we had in mind. Peeta just strolls into the camp- as if he is just any other soldier. Boggs quickly takes his weapon then goes to make a call, leaving the rest of us staring, completely dumbfounded.

"It won't matter. The president assigned me herself. She decided the propos needed some heating up." Peeta says.

I glance at Katniss, she looks unhinged. I guess I am not the only one who has figured out that if Coin has sent Peeta here she no longer cares if Katniss lives or dies. All evidence would suggest he is not ready to be around her. Forget the enemy we are going to have to have eyes in the back of our heads if we are going to keep an eye on him the whole time.

"Jackson, you have to set up an round-the-clock guard." He sounds angry- livid even. "Katniss, come with me."

They set off together, everyone else just stands around, waiting to figure out what we are meant to do.

"I'll take first watch," I volunteer, "Give you a chance to figure out the rest," I tell Jackson.

I lead Peeta off to the side. The two of us sit together. I don't really know what to say. I haven't really spoken to Peeta since he returned from the Capitol but I guess this can't be easy on him, either. From what I heard he is so confused and mixed-up that he doesn't know who he can trust and who he can't. He eyes me suspiciously but I offer him my hand.

"Allies?"

He nods. I can see him glancing around. I wonder if he is looking to see where Katniss and Boggs have gone.

I know it is different but I can't help but compare him to Annie. Both have been mentally changed by experiences in the Capitol- it doesn't really change who they are- not really- not deep down- it is just more difficult to see it. Somewhere inside him must be the same Peeta that we all know from before.

"If we are allies, does that mean you will help me escape my guard?" I can't tell if he is joking or not but I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"Depends what you are going to do. We're all allies in the squad."

His expression darkens and he looks slightly confused. I decide I should try and change the subject but he cuts me off in mid-sentence.

"Why did you save me in the arena?"

"We were allies."

"It was for her, wasn't it? To help the revolution?"

"Yes," I confirm. He begins to turn away from me and I am sure I have lost him again, "But I also wanted you to live."

"Why?" it is almost accusatory.

"You're good person Peeta."

He shakes his head.

Katniss has returned with Boggs. She is leaning over Jackson's shoulder looking at the schedule. They exchange a few words that we are too far away to hear until she raises her voice to say, "I wouldn't be shooting Peeta. He's gone. Johanna is right. It'll be just like shooting another of the Capitol's mutts."

I watch the expression of Peeta's face- hurt- quickly followed by annoyance and determination. The fact that it is the hurt which registers first makes me think that maybe he is still in there. Maybe he does still know who Katniss really is.

I am haunted by the expression I used to see on his face when he looked at her- such love. Surely that can't be completely lost. Katniss is being cruel to him speaking up like that, and it surely won't help bring the real Peeta back. He will never remember who she really is if all he ever sees is someone who is harsh to him. Besides, provoking him isn't going to lessen the danger he potentially puts the whole squad in.

When it is time for dinner the squad sits in a tense circle. I get the impression that I am not the only one who thinks Katniss has been too callous as there are more than a few unfriendly looks towards her.

* * *

><p>The guard rotation changes throughout the evening. I am on duty again at ten until twelve but until then the evening is my own.<p>

My thoughts are full of Annie; I had to fight really hard to get her back. It wasn't easy but I managed it. If Katniss isn't willing to do the same then maybe she will never truly get Peeta back from the Capitol, even after all that time the pair of us spent waiting and hoping, praying, begging, willing for their return. It is just sad. The worst possible ending for what should be a perfect love-story.

Maybe I should say something to her, maybe I should say something to him. I don't know... but I know what I saw back in the arena. It was real. I don't want to see them throw it all away.

I get my piece of rope out of my pack and run it through my fingers. Me and this rope have been through a lot together. It is funny how small things can take on bigger meaning. This isn't just a piece of rope. It became my lifeline- a way of connecting me to reality, a way of helping me forget everything I needed to forget. It helped me. It helped Katniss get through the darkness. Maybe it can help here too.

When it is my turn to go on duty again I hold the rope out towards Peeta.

"What's that for?"

I shrug, "I just find it helps. I can show you some knots, if you like."

"Alright."

The light is very dim but it is just enough to make out the coils of the rope. I show him a few of the knots and Peeta mimics them as best as he can. I start to talk to him while we work; I decide to stay away from mentioning Katniss- I don't want to provoke him. But it turns out she is quite a difficult topic to avoid.

"It's a shame you couldn't bring some cakes to ice, eh?" I smile but it is not returned. "Or maybe a paintbrush. I remember those paintings of yours they showed before your victory tour. They were really something."

He frowns. "What do you mean?" It is as if he has completely forgotten.

I shift uncomfortably "I dunno, maybe I was thinking of something else." There is silence for a while. I watch as he tries to replicate one of the knots I showed him but his fingers get in a muddle and it just ends up a mess. Still, he starts unpicking it bit by bit and I guess it still does its job. "Are you pleased you were sent here?"

He shrugs. "I did all the training. I suppose it makes sense for them to have sent me." He really has no idea of Coin's motives. At least that means he wasn't sent with a mission in mind.

We pass the rest of my time on guard with more stilted conversation. I never quite gather the guts to say what I wish I could but I notice it is Katniss who is on duty next.

We exchange places without her really looking at me at all. I can't help but be intrigued about what is going to happen next. If he lashes out someone needs to be ready to intervene. Although it isn't exactly scheduled, I decided to stay alert. It's not like I need that much sleep to shoot blank targets anyway.

It takes almost an hour for Peeta to speak and by then my eyes have begun to droop as sleep starts to claim me.

"These last couple of years must have been exhausting for you. Trying to decide whether to kill me or not. Back and forth, back and forth."

I practically hold my breath waiting to hear her reply, reading myself to spring from my sleeping bag if need be.

"I never wanted to kill you. Except when I thought you were helping the Careers kill me. After that, I always thought of you as… an ally."

"Ally…. Friend. Lover. Victor. Enemy. Fiancée, Target. Mutt. Neighbour. Hunter. Tribute. Ally. I'll add it to the lists of words I use to try and figure you out. The problem is, I can't tell what's real any more, and what's made up."

I hear the desperation in his voice, the confusion. It reminds me so much of Annie that I can't help but speak up. "Then you should ask, Peeta. That's what Annie does."

"Ask who? Who can I trust?"

"Well, us for starters. We're your squad." Jackson pipes up- I guess I haven't been the only one who has been keeping watch over the pair of them.

"You're my guards."

"That too. But you saved a lot of lives in Thirteen. It's not the kind of thing we forget," Jackson adds.

Silence. He doesn't ask any more. She doesn't say any more. I spend about another hour waiting for them to speak, wondering if they will continue to take the tiny steps towards recovering what they once had, but at some point, while I am waiting, I fall asleep and I don't wake again until the morning.

* * *

><p>Katniss, Gale and I head out as usual to attack buildings and achieve nothing in particular. When we return we find the rest of the squad sat with Peeta.<p>

"Most of the people from Twelve were killed in the fire."

"Real. Less than nine hundred of you made it to Thirteen alive."

"The fire was my fault."

"Not real. President Snow destroyed Twelve the way he did Thirteen, to send a message to the rebels."

It seems to be a sort of game- a way of Peeta figuring out what actually happened and which memories have been tampered with by the Capitol.

Jackson rises to join us, "It's a good idea, isn't it? I think it might help him."

"Only problem is if he asks a question someone can't answer," Katniss points out.

"Well you know him the best," I tell Katniss.

"But I can't be there all the time."

"I can help too," Gale says, although he doesn't necessarily sound thrilled about it. "I knew him back in Twelve."

"And I know about his Games."

Jackson thinks it over a moment. "We will set up separate watches- make sure he has access to one of you three at all times. If we team you up with a solider from Thirteen it may lighten the load." Jackson returns to her books and draws up a new rotor which is in place by the end of lunch.

Even after all my experiences with Annie I still find his questions tougher than I thought. There are some things I can't explain, others I don't remember, but I do my best to give him an impartial view of what happened. I am worried that I will get bits wrong and create a sort of false memory. He has so many of those already that it feels like walking on egg shells.

I am glad we are doing this, though. I am glad Katniss is finally trying to bring him back, even if this wasn't her idea. She had to at least try.


	150. Chapter 150

The next day they tell us they are going to try something new. They have set up a block to allow some more footage to taken, this time it is actually going to include some live pods and they want everyone involved. Including Peeta.

"I'll give you this back," Boggs says as he hands Peeta his gun,"But it's loaded with blanks."

"I'm not much of a shot anyway." Peeta says, although he isn't really paying attention, most of his focus seems to be on Pollux. I am about to ask him what he's doing when he finally speaks, although clearly agitated. "You're an Avox, aren't you? I can tell by the way you swallow. There were two Avoxes with me in prison. Darius and Lavinia, but the guards mostly called them the redheads."

My ears prick up on hearing that name- Darius- Hake. So he was imprisoned too, Annie was right, but what I don't understand is how he ended up there. I suppose if Peeta says he was an Avox then he must have been discovered, somehow. They must have found him or the radio system or maybe Plutarch had him on some other mission. Who knows?

Slowly Peeta continues his tale. "They'd been our servants in the Training Centre, so they arrested them, too. I watched them being tortured to death." If this information isn't bad enough, unaware of the effect it is having on everyone around him, Peeta continues. "She was lucky. They used too much voltage and her heart stopped right off. It took days to finish him off. Beating, cutting of parts. They kept asking him questions, but he couldn't speak, he just made these horrible animal sounds. They didn't want information, you know? They wanted me to see it….."

Suddenly I feel sick. Hake. I still remember him from when he seemed like nothing more than a boy- happy, besotted with Annie. He wouldn't have even been mixed up in this mess if it weren't for me. He deserved more than that. I resist the urge to leave the rest of the squad and find a place where I can be alone, time to take it all in but there isn't enough time for that. I guess Hake is just one more reason.

"Real or not real?" Peeta asks. No one answers, though. I guess not everyone knew them personally but it is bad enough to know that they could do that to another human being, let alone knowing that they did it to Hake. Peeta's agitation grows. "Real or not real?" he demands.

"Real" Boggs tells him. "At least to the best of my knowledge… real."

"I thought so. There was nothing… shiny about it." He wanders away from us, obviously needing some space. You and me both, Peeta.

There isn't time to swell on it though. It still plays in my mind as we head out onto the designated block and prepare for the propo.

I am still feeling shaken and dazed when Cressida calls "Action!" but I mindlessly follow the others down the smoky street, hoping that it will be enough for me just to take my lead from them. After the real pod is activated they decide they need close up shots of each of us showing our reactions so we take it in turns to act them out in varying ridiculous ways.

I'm glad I am one of the first because by the time we reach Mitchell I am crying with laughter, struggling to keep myself upright. It is a sort of hysteria. The horror of what happened to Hake, alongside the ridiculousness of pretending to be surprised by a pod. The two do not marry well and it explodes out of me in booming cackles.

"Pull it together, Five-Four-One." Boggs says but I can hear the quiver of laughter in his voice and I know he is just as tickled as the rest of us. As he tries to decide where we should go next he looks at the Holo. I have the sudden urge to call out to him as he steps back a couple of paces struggling to find the light.

Call it intuition. Call it a sixth sense. It doesn't matter either way. The bomb explodes instantly. Someone screams, real smoke grows in a wave across the street and all smiles are wiped from our faces.

Katniss reaches Boggs first. He is missing both his legs but his main concern seems to be the Holo. Katniss quickly retrieves it and I can do nothing but stand back and watch as he fumbles with it- saying commands into it as Homes attacks him with the first aid kit.

As I watch I slowly regain my senses enough to look around me. Messalla is out cold. Something about seeing his limp body thrown against the wall makes me spring into action and I immediately go to his aid. He isn't breathing so I get to work. It takes a matter of seconds before I find my rhythm but there still comes that awful moment when I think I might have waited too long, when I wonder if it isn't enough. However, at the last second he gasps for air.

I look up to see how Boggs is faring but instead I catch sight of a thick black, oily substance spurting up out of the street back from the way we came. "Watch out!" I call to them, afraid it is going to roll down towards us.

Gunfire rattles. Mitchell throws himself at Peeta and pins him to the ground but not well enough. Seconds later Peeta flips Mitchell from his back, sending him down the block. Something snaps and a net springs around Mitchell and he is caught in its jagged barbs.

I can smell the oil now, toxic, gaseous. We need to get out. There is nothing I can do for Mitchell so I sling Messalla across my back and run for the house where the others have already flung themselves.

"Gale!" Katniss shouts.

"Fumes!" He calls to her as he slams the kitchen door. Castor and Pollux spring into action trying to plug up the cracks.

"Mitchell?" Homes asks but receives no answer.

All my attention is focused on Boggs as he forces the Holo into Katniss' hands. He is close to her, I guess he is saying something but Katniss pulls back.

A steady banging thumps through the walls. I look around, no one else seems startled by it. I follow the sound round to the closet. A quick glance round the room is all it takes more me to realise that is where they have trapped Peeta and the banging is his feet kicking the doors. Soon even that noise seems to ebb away.

"He's gone?" I look at Boggs, not knowing why I asked because I already know that he is. "We need to get out of here. Now. We just set off a streetful of pods. You can bet they've got us on surveillance tapes."

"Count on it. All the streets are covered by surveillance cameras. I bet they set off the black wave manually when they saw us taping the propo." Castor says.

"Our radio communicators went dead almost immediately. Probably an electromagnetic pulse device. But I'll get us back to camp." Jackson moves towards Katniss. "Give me the Holo."

"No. Boggs gave it to me."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"It's true. He transferred the prime security clearance to her while he was dying. I saw it." Homes says.

"Why would he do that?"

"Because I'm on a special mission for President Coin. I think Boggs was the only one who knew about it."

"To do what?"

"To assassinate President Snow before the loss of life from this war makes our population unsustainable."

It's not even remotely believable. I'm pretty sure no one in the room buys it but I don't think Katniss would make it up for no reason. She must have some sort of plan, even if Boggs and Coin know nothing about it. If it gets us closer to Snow then I am for it. If he should answer to anyone it should be us.

"I don't believe you." Jackson continues, "As your current commander, I order you to transfer the prime security clearance over to me." I can feel the tension mounting. This isn't going to end well. I clutch my gun, ready to defend Katniss, if need be.

"No. That would be in direct violation of President Coin's orders"

I point my gun at Jackson, anticipating that her next move will probably be to take the Holo by force. It seems that I wasn't the only one to have that idea, though. Everyone in the squad choses a side in an instant. They either point their gun at Jackson or at Katniss. It is immediately clear where people's loyalties lie. We all stand, stuck in a stalemate. I wonder how long it is going to be until someone dies.

"It's true." Cressida, of all people, finally speaks up "That's why we're here. Plutarch wants it televised. He thinks if we can film the Mockingjay assassinating Snow, it will end the war."

Jackson pauses to consider it. "And why is he here" she gestures towards the closet where they stuffed Peeta.

I can see Katniss struggling to find a lie. I try to think of something that might cover it, a way to justify why Coin would ever choose to send someone as mentally unstable as Peeta into battle but Cressida gets there first.

"Because the two post-Games interviews with Caesar Flickerman were shot in President Snow's personal quarters. Plutarch thinks Peeta may be of some use as a guide in a location we have little knowledge of."

"We have to go!" Gale suddenly pipes up, I can tell where his gun is pointed even without looking, "I'm following Katniss. If you don't want to, head back to camp. But let's move!"

And suddenly, just like that, the story is accepted and Katniss is in control. Homes opens the closet and heaves an unconscious Peeta onto his shoulder.

"Ready." He says.

It is only then that I realise my gun is still pointed at Jackson. I quickly lower it and take my position near the door.

I don't know what Katniss is doing but whatever it is, it is obviously important. And, no doubt, it will mean we will finally see a bit of action. I have no idea how we are actually going to get close enough to Snow's mansion to assassinate him but such problems often have a way of resolving themselves.

"Boggs?" Leeg 1 questions.

"We can't take him. He's understand." I tell her. His body would only weigh us down now. As I look at him I notice his gun so I take it from his shoulder and sling it over my own. If there is one thing I have learnt from being in the arena it is to take weapons where you find them. "Lead on, soldier Everdeen."

Katniss looks lost. She turns to Jackon for assistance in using the Holo and when it is lit up she takes a few moments to scrutinise what she is looking at. I hold my breath, hoping she can figure it all out, hoping the plan won't just end here because there is almost nothing I wouldn't give to be the one to kill Snow and reach him first.

"Put on your masks. We're going out the way we came in." She finally says.

"But what about the oil-" we all speak at once as we try to contradict her but her voice carries over the top of ours.

"If the wave was that powerful, then it may have triggered and absorbed other pods in our path."

Pollux makes some signs to his brother and Castor quickly translates. "It may have disabled the cameras as well. Coated the lenses."

Gale stretches and rests his foot on the counter to examine the underside of his boot. "It's not corrosive. I think it was meant to either suffocate or poison us."

"Probably our best shot."

So we all put on our masks to head out the door. We are about to make our first steps when I notice Peeta's lifeless body still slung across Homes' shoulders. He's going to need his mask too. The others hold back while I secure it then, all together, we head out.

Outside everything is covered in the black substance, it has thickened to a sort of gel. Once everyone has stepped out onto it Katniss address us. "If anyone needs to go back, for whatever reason, now is the time. No questions asked. No hard feelings."

But no one moves. No self-respecting solider could ever turn back now.


	151. Chapter 151

We keep moving until the gel under our feet begins to thin then Katniss directs us towards an apartment so we can go under cover.

The adrenaline from what just happened has me going crazy. I can't stay still, I can't think straight. My eyes dart in all directions looking for more pods, checking for peacekeepers, searching out some new trouble. I guess we have spent so long starved of action that when it hits us in one mighty wave it is overwhelming.

They check the apartment for traces of the fumes but on the whole it isn't too bad. It is strange being back in the Capitol. All the streets look exactly the same but instead of the usual hustle bustle they are completely devoid of life. The apartment too looks just the same as any other. Belongings have been left out, as though the owner had to leave in a hurry. I have been in blocks like this so many times, and they are all so familiar that I get a sense of deja-vu. It is probably the adrenaline again but I get an overpowering sense that I know the place.

The others start to try and catch their breath but I roam round the living room, searching for clues, anything to confirm or deny that I have been here before. A family photo confirms the former occupants to be strangers but even after knowing that the feeling doesn't go away. It puts me on edge. I guess I have too many bad memories tied up in these places.

To try and distract myself I turn to Katniss. Now would be a great time for her to explain the plan. I am about to ask her 'what next' when a distant chain of explosions punctures the air.

"It wasn't close. A good four or five blocks away." Jackson tells us.

"Where we left Boggs." Leeg 1 adds.

Well he won't be there anymore, I think. They have obviously blown it sky-high. They probably thought we were still inside.

A disconcerting high-pitched whine kicks in- it reminds me of the hum of electricity I associate with District Thirteen but I can't spot the source of it. I turn round, until I spot the large television.

"It's all right! It's just an emergency broadcast. Every Capitol television is automatically activated for it." Cressida says.

And maybe it would be alright except we are on the news report. We are treated to a step-by-step replay of the events until the wave of oil cuts out the camera feed. That is bad enough

"There's no aerial footage. Boggs must have been right about their hovercraft capacity." Castor says.

We watch as they set up the chain of explosives we just heard a moment ago, watch as the row of apartments we sheltered in are blown to pieces. It is a like a live-action replay of our lives. It is surreal but not as surreal as when the news reporter announces us dead.

"Finally a bit of luck." Homes says but I'm not so convinced.

If Annie saw the broadcast back in Thirteen… she will think she has lost me- irretrievably so. She will be inconsolable, possibly irretrievable herself. It would kill her. I wish there was a way I could contact her- make sure she doesn't do anything to harm herself, or the baby but the communications are down and if I did they would probably track it and find us again.

"My father. He just lost my sister and now…" Leeg 1 mirrors my own sentiments.

They play the footage countless times. It is as if they are actually enjoying basking in our deaths. Two reporters discuss it like a juicy piece of gossip and the more they say the more horrified I am. It's disgusting how they revel in the death of other humans.

"So, now that we're dead, what's our nest move?" Gale finally says.

"Isn't it obvious?" My head swivels almost all the way round on hearing Peeta's voice. "Our next move is to kill me."

He looks pale, horrified. I guess this is probably the first time he has seen himself acting under the influence of the hijacking.

"Don't be ridiculous." Jackson says.

"I just murdered a member of our squad!" Peeta shouts, moans. It must have been agony for him to watch. In any other circumstances he would never have seen it. No one could have been so cruel as to shove a mirror in his face like that but it is too late to take it back now.

"You pushed him off you. You couldn't have known he would trigger the net at that exact spot." I try to reassure him but I already know it is not going to be any good. He isn't like Annie, I can't call him back to me with a few soft spoken words.

"Who cares? He's dead, isn't he?" tears stream down his face. "I didn't know. I've never seen myself like that before. Katniss is right. I'm the monster. I'm the mutt. I'm the one Snow has turned into a weapon!"

"It's not your fault, Peeta." I say, I am almost certain it won't work but I still have to try.

"You can't take me with you. It's only a matter of time before I kill someone else. Maybe you think it's kinder to just dump me somewhere. Let me take my chances. But that's the same thing as handing me over to the Capitol. DO you think you'd be doing me a favour by sending me back to Snow?"

"I'll kill you before that happens. I promise." Gale tells him.

I think the sincerity of the comment takes him back because Peeta momentarily hesitates before shaking his head. "It's no good. What if you're not there when I do it? I want one of those poison pills like the rest of you have."

"It's not about you." Katniss tells him. "We're on a mission. And you're necessary for it." She turns away from him then, as if the whole case is closed, completely resolved, no longer an issue but I can still see the signs of anguish on Peeta's face. "Think we might find some food here?"

While some of the squad look for food I stay behind with Homes to guard Peeta.

I struggle to think of something to say to him, a way of relieving his pain but nothing comes to me. The tears still come but he wipes them away on his sleeve, trying to hide them from us.

When the others return with food they tell us all to grab a can. Suddenly, noticing how hungry I am, I don't object.

After a short while the seal of Panem lights of the screen. Our faces run across the display as though we are fallen tributes in the arena. Eventually Snow appears at his desk, the flag behind him, his trademark rose stuffed into his lapel.

"First of all I would like to congratulate the Peacekeepers on a splendid job; you should all be commended for eliminating the Mockingjay and her supporters. With her death the rebels will have no one left to follow. Without her face to head their troops they will have nowhere to turn for leadership. They are without direction. That much is clear from who they chose to follow in the first place for who was Katniss Everdeen? A poor unstable girl, with a small talent with a bow and arrow. Not a great thinker, no. Not a leader, no. Merely a face-"

The screen flickers and President Snow is replaced by President Coin, "Dead or alive Katniss Everdeen will remain the face of this rebellion. If ever you waver in your resolve think of the Mockingjay, and in her you will find the strength you need to rid Panem of its oppressors."

"I had no idea how much I meant to her." Katniss says but only Gale laughs.

Katniss' face appears on the screen, backed by flickering flames. It is so doctored she hardly even looks like herself.

The screen flickers again and Snow returns. "Tomorrow morning, when we pull Katniss Everdeen's body from the ashes, we will see exactly who the Mockingjay is. A dead girl who could save no one, not even herself."

"Except that you won't find her," I tell him, even though his image is already gone from the screen.

"We can get a head start on them at least." Katniss says with a sigh. She sets up the Holo and Jackson starts to talk her through it.

My thoughts are still on Annie. Still worrying about what she might think. I hope Johanna is looking out for her like she promised.

I glance across at the Holo. If I understand what I am seeing correctly it pretty much looks like we are trapped in here. I guess Katniss thinks the same as she turns to us and says, "Any ideas?"

"Why don't we start by ruling out the possibilities," I say, trying to remember the words my father had told me about preparation when I was still training for the Games. "The street is not a possibility"

"The rooftops are just as bad as the street." Leeg 1 chips in.

"We still might have a chance to withdraw, go back the way we came. But that would mean a failed mission." Homes says.

"It was never intended for all of us to go forward. You just had the misfortunate to be with me." Katniss tells us. I begin to wonder what exactly she means when Jackson interrupts.

"Well, that's a moot point. We're here with you now. So, we can't stay put. We can't move up. We can't move laterally. I think that just leaves one option."

"Underground." Gale says.

A chill runs up my spine. The minute we go underground this goes from being yet another Hunger Games to being _My _Hunger Games_. _It was so long ago that I fought the others down in the caves but time hasn't changed the feelings towards it. The darkness. The claustrophobia. That stale smell from trapped air. If there was any other choice I would be begging the others to take it.

Katniss looks at the Holo, her eyes glancing across the subterranean level. I guess it looks positive enough to her because she says, "Ok, then. Let's make it look like we've never been here."

Despite my reservations I get to my feet. There is no turning back now. No tunnel is going to stop me giving Snow what he deserves. I set about collecting up cans then I send them down the trash chute. When I return to living room everything else has been cleaned as well. Only Peeta remains sitting on the sofa, refusing to move.

"I'm not going. I'll either disclose your position or hurt someone else."

"Snow's people will find you." I tell him, hoping it might persuade him to join us. After everything he has gone through surely that has got to make him change his mind about staying.

"Then leave me a pill. I'll only take it if I have to."

"That's not an option. Come along." Jackson tries to chivvy him along but he still won't move.

"Or you'll what? Shoot me?"

"We'll knock you out and drag you with us. Which will both slow us down and endanger us." Homes tells him.

"Stop being noble! I don't care if I die!" He turns to Katniss. "Katniss, please. Don't you see, I want to be out of this?"

She pauses. Surely she must see. We can all see. But there is not a lot we can do about it. I know she won't be able to leave him behind, there is too much history, and if she doesn't leave him behind then there is no choice but for him to come too.

"We're wasting time. Are you coming voluntarily or do we knock you out?"

Peeta momentarily buries his face in his hands but then he does get up.

"Should we free his hands?" Leeg 1 asks.

"No!" Peeta growls.

"No, but I want the key." Jackson passes the key to Katniss and she puts it into her pocket.

Now there is nothing left to do but head underground. While Homes prises open the door to the maintenance shaft I draw in my final gasp of fresh air.


	152. Chapter 152

We shuffle in single file along the shaft until we reach the second apartment with the utility tube.

"It's why no one ever wants the centre unit. Workmen coming and going whenever and no second bath. But the rent's considerably cheaper." Messalla starts fussing, in a manner completely unique to Capitol citizens. Only someone who has grown up in comfort would ever think it. He must notice the expression on my face as he adds. "Never mind."

One by one we climb down the wide ladder, descending into the darkness. The stale, warm air immediately hits my face and I wish I could climb back up the ladder but they have already closed the door.

The others are just visible in the dim light. Pollux grabs hold of his brother, looking shaky.

"My brother worked down here after he became an Avox. Took five years before we were able to buy his way up to ground level. Didn't see the sun once." Castor explains.

I don't really know what to say. Hake is still in my mind. My Games is still in my mind. Everything is closing in around me. I draw in a deep breath, hoping someone else will find a way to answer. But they don't. I guess we are all facing our demons.

When someone does, eventually speak, it is Peeta. "Well, then you just became our most valuable asset."

Castor laughs, probably relieved that the moment has passed and I am pretty sure Pollux manages a smile. There is just something amusing about the way Peeta said it, after all that awkward silence. It is true; of course, it just shouldn't have taken that long for someone to find those words.

We head off down the tunnel. Katniss tries to use the Holo to guide us but it turns out Pollux's knowledge of the underground system is worth more than even Peeta's comment would have suggested. As it happens there is a network of tunnels that run directly below the ones above, following the intersections and major cross streets. Small trucks use it to transfer goods all around the city. It is covered in pods but they are only active at night. Just to confuse us, though, there are also extra tunnels and passageways that lead off the main street. I think it would be easy to get lost, even with the Holo.

We walk for about six hours before exhaustion takes over. "We should rest," Katniss finally says.

Pollux guides us to a small room that seems to be some sort of control room. I throw myself down on the ground, propping my back up against the wall. There isn't much room for all of us but we will have to the make the best of it for the time we have.

I guess the adrenaline is still working its way round my body as, despite knowing I should be shattered, I can't fall asleep straight away. It is just as well as Jackson puts me on the first shift. I am left alone listening to the hum of the machines while the others switch off, falling into quick and easy sleep.

As always, when left alone, my thoughts turn to Annie and our unborn child. I chase dreams of the three of us nestled up together under a blanket. All my future is held right in that moment. I hope the baby looks like her. I can imagine the two of them turning to look at me with that smile. It won't be easy after the war but this child could save us. Who can dwell too much in what is past when there is a small person reminding you every day about the present and all the days to come? I try to imagine what it will be like for them growing up in a world where the Hunger Games never existed, where they never know the threat of the reaping ball. But it's not just that- it is freedom to follow dreams and make mistakes and to love and laugh and feel safe. That's the sort of world I want for my child.

Someone sits up at the other end of the room. I think it is Pollux, as he still looks full of strange nervous energy that can't be contained. I don't know what to say to him. We would struggle to have a conversation and I don't think I could comfort him.

I decide, while I'm awake to have something to eat. I force another can down but it feels like eating chalk. As I chew each mouthful I try to figure out how long I have been in the Capitol for. It is has been more than five days, though. I must have missed that. My third time in the arena and yet again I have avoided a death on the fifth day. I guess I really am the Odair who broke that particular cycle.

It is hard to keep track of time down here but I guess about another half an hour passes before Pollux grabs hold of my arm. He points to himself and his gun and I assume that means it is his turn to go on watch. So I hunker down and lean my head on my pack.

Thoughts of teaching my child to swim, hearing their laugh and watching them grow send me into a comfortable sleep and when I awake, I rouse with a smile on my face.

I stretch; feeling strangely refreshed, and go to let out a loud yawn when Katniss silences us. "Listen."

I try my best and at first all I can hear is the hum of the machines but then I start to make it out- a soft hissing like a snake, only it is more than that. Something is being said. Over and over again… _"Katniss!"_

It is inhuman. There is only one thing I know of that could make a sound like that- mutts. Instinctively I gather up my things and the others are doing the same.

"_Katniss!" _it sounds close, closer than I expected- I look round, searching for the source. That's when I see Peeta's lips as they slowly move, sounding out the soft syllables. _"Katniss"_. A shiver runs down my spine.

I am about to position my trident but Katniss already has her bow trained on him. I don't know if she can do it, though. It is obvious that he has been trained to respond to something but at the same time this is still Peeta- this is still the boy she knew from the arena- the boy she has relied upon, saved, cared for, cried for, and longed for. If I was in the same position and it was Annie there whispering my name I know that I would not be able to face shooting her.

Peeta's head springs up. "Katniss get out of here!" he is frantic, but unmistakeably himself.

"Why? What's making that sound?"

"I don't know. Only that it has to kill you. Run! Get out! Go!"

She relaxes her bow and turns to the rest of us. "Whatever it is, it's after me. It might be a good time to split up."

"But we're your guard." Jackson says.

"And your crew," adds Cressida.

"I'm not leaving you." Gale replies blankly.

She looks around, and I can tell what she is thinking. There is no way we are all going to get out of this, there is no way she can save us all if we stick together but if we insist then she is going to have to find a way to make it work. "Finnick, give one of your guns to Castor."

I pass the gun that used to be Boggs' over. I knew it would come in handy at some point

"Peeta hand me your gun."

"It's only got blanks."

"Cartridges," Jackson hands them to Katniss as she loads the gun and gives it to Pollux. Katniss and Gale then hand their guns over to Messalla and Cressida. At least now everyone, other than Peeta, is armed. At least that gives us all a fair chance.

Together we exit the small room, Katniss and Pollux take the lead and we follow them as quickly as we can while trying to keep as silent as we can, in hope that whatever is making that hissing noise loses us in the tunnels.

I don't know how far we have gone but a new sound rises up, reverberating off the walls- strange, guttural sounds that I have never heard before.

"Avoxes. That's what Darius sounded like when they tortured him." Peeta says.

Another shiver runs down my spine. I try not to think of Hake. I try not to linger too long on his agony but it is difficult when those screams serve as a constant reminder.

"The mutts must have found them."

"So they're not just after Katniss."

"They'll probably kill anyone. It's just that they won't stop until they get to her." Gale says and I have no reason not to believe him.

"Let me go on alone." Katniss urges us, "Lead them off. I'll transfer the Holo to Jackson. The rest of you can finish the mission."

"No one's going to agree to that." Jackson immediately says.

"We're wasting time," I say. There is no point discussing it now when we all know we are going to follow Katniss to the end of the universe, if need be. It doesn't matter whether or not the mission is real. It doesn't matter where we end up. We are allies and we are in this together. Together we are going to make a new tomorrow.

"Listen." Peeta whispers.

"_Katniss." _It is closer. It comes up through the floor and from behind us. They must be moving fast- faster than we are, at any rate. If we are going to have any chance of keeping our lead we are going to have to keep moving.

We run until we reach the steps and then Katniss gets out the Holo again to check our route. I can still hear their hissing. Instinct tells me we should keep moving- just head as far from that noise as possible but they are determined to find the right route to get us closer to the mansion.

As she looks Katniss starts to gag.

"Masks on!" Jackson orders but I can't smell anything- there is no gas around us. Whatever it is, it only affects Katniss.

She swerves away, running out onto the Transfer which is empty. It must still be night which means the pods will be active. She takes down the first one with her bow and destroys a nest of flesh-eating rats then she runs for the intersection and we blindly chase after her, knowing that we are treading on a minefield that could blow up at any second.

"Stay with me!" she calls.

She is about to pull forward again but a shaft of light spills from the sky just in front of her and I pull her back at the last minute but Messalla is not so quick and he falls straight into the shaft.

"Katniss!" She, like the rest of us, is running blindly. We are fish in a barrel, hitting our heads against the side, looking for a way out but surely there are too many pods and too many mutts and too many chances to get lost.

Messalla stands as still as a statue, frozen by the light, his mouth pulled into a silent scream. Slowly his flesh begins to melt away like he is made of only wax.

"Can't help him!" Peeta yells, pushing us on as we stand and gape like idiots. "Can't!"

We are blocked off on one side by a pod marked 'The Meat Grinder' so we head off in the opposite direction. As we run forward, gunfire rattles and plaster showers from the ceiling. I look over my shoulder to where a squad of peacekeepers advance, out-numbering us. We fire back at them and manage to make some ground but just when it looks as though we are winning a swarm of part human- part creature beings flood in from the side of the tunnel.

As they overwhelm the peacekeepers they use their mouths to rip off their heads, clearly not knowing the difference between an ally and an enemy. Once the Peacekeepers are down they slither towards us.

"This way!"

The large Meat Grinder pod, which blocked our way, activates, giant teeth chew up the tiles. I pull myself back against the wall, to avoid its jaws and skirt round the edges to the other side when Katniss and Pollux beckon for us to follow.

I can hear the mutts behind us, gaining on us. As the others move forward I notice Jackson and Leeg 1 hold back standing at the edge of the Meat Grinder in the one spot where the mutts could safely traverse the space.

"Go on!" they call to me.

I don't think. I keep running. I don't look back. I don't dare turn over my shoulder. The hissing and scuttling tells me the creatures are still advancing. Guns fire as they do their best to hold them back.

I follow the others along a ledge and across a narrow bridge where a ladder waits for us.

"Wait! Where are Jackson and Leeg One?" Katniss screams

"They stayed at the Grinder to hold the mutts back." Homes tells her.

"What?" She almost turns back, fighting to get to the bridge but Homes pulls her back.

"Don't waste their lives, Katniss. It's too late for them. Look!"

The mutts have already reached the ledge. They move quickly. Even the gunfire of Leeg 1 and Jackson couldn't contain them for long. Soon they will reach the bridge and the ladder. There is no way that we will able to outrun them. We need a distraction, a way of holding them back until we get out. I look around me but there is nothing we could use.

"Stand back!" Gale yells as explodes the end of the bridge with his arrows. The rest of the bridge collapses beneath the mutts as they hiss and shriek and claw the air.

They clamber over each other as we shoot at them but every time we shoot them down another wave of them appear, stepping over the bodies of their fallen comrades to further their advance. It obvious we aren't going to be able to hold them back much longer.

The others storm towards the ladder. Katniss stands stunned for a moment, just staring at the mutts then Gale pulls her towards the ladder and they begin to climb.

I hold back, letting the others go first. Pollux, Peeta, Cressida. I turn towards the others, "Come on!" I call to them but Castor is still standing on the bank, firing at the mutts. As they draw closer to him he doesn't stop, he doesn't waver for a second. Claws grab him by the shoulders and an elastic jaw tears away his head.

Homes, a few metres away from Castor steps forward to take his place, firing a frenzied round of shots into the creatures, taking down as many as he can. It slows them down but there are so many of them. They are impossible to hold back. I look up at the ladder; Cressida's feet are hardly above eye level. We need to do something; we have to hold them back.

I stay at the foot of the ladder and fire my shots past Homes. I can't turn away as he shares Castor's fate and they overwhelm him. Frozen. The only thing which still moves is my index finger on the trigger. I keep firing until they are but a few metres from me. Maybe this will give them the extra seconds they need, maybe everyone else will make it.

As they surge towards me I cling to the bottom rung of the ladder and begin to climb. Frantic, desperate, I know I have to out run them. Come on, come on….

A clawed hand yanks my foot and I lose my balance. I fall backwards down into a sea of reptilian fangs and talons and scales. I scream as their hissing curls through my body and they pull at my flesh. Frenzied, like a pack of starving lions, they descend on me. I kick and punch and claw at them. I look across at the ladder. It is just a few metres away but I can't push my way through them but I try, stretching, reaching, urging myself forward, even as a thousand hands pull me back. Finally I grip the bottom rung again but when I try to pull myself up I can't. The weight of the creatures pull me downwards, dragging me to the depths like an anchor. I look up at the hatch- a small pinprick in the distance. There is no way I am going to reach it. There is no way….

My gun clatters to the floor, slipping from my fingers.

_I'm sorry, Annie. _

I hold on to her image in my mind, try to drink in every inch of her face, every small detail. I don't want to let it go. I have to hold on to it. I have to hold on… _Annie. _


	153. Epilogue

Annie bowed her head; she didn't want to look at them anymore. "Now I'm really alone," but even as she said it she knew it wasn't completely true. Her hand rested on her stomach where the rest of her life was waiting. Johanna gripped her hand and the pair of them sat in silence.

When she stepped off the train and her feet sunk in the soft sands of District Four she didn't head up the long path leading to the victor's village. Instead she drifted down to the beach and stared out at the unforgiving sea.

"Finnick," she whispered. The waves hushed in reply. Sunlight dappled the blue with patches of silver and gold. Birds swooped down and plucked fishes out, dragging them from one world to another. A single boat broke the line of the horizon, peacefully gliding towards the distance. On-board she could see matchstick figures, pulling the sails and hoisting in the nets. She squinted into the sunlight, desperate to see the crew- her father, her mother, Eoghan, Hake and Finnick- but the sun was too bright and the boat vanished on the waves.

"Annie-"

Her heart leapt, she turned. Her grandfather hobbled down the rocky path towards her.

"They told me you were coming back." He said, with an embarassed shrug of his shoulders.

Annie rushed towards him and threw herself into his arms. Not alone. Definitely not alone. No matter what happened. No matter who left, somehow, against all the odds, her grumpy and gnarled old grandfather always remained. Seeing him made every defence fall down. She sobbed into his chest while he stroked her hair.

"My little girl," he whispered, as if he couldn't believe she was actually there, "My little Annie."

They clung to each other as the days passed. Time slipped away like milk through a sieve- each new day blending into the one before. Life should not go on. Things should not just continue as they always had done. Annie tried to shut it out. She tried to cocoon herself, lose herself but the unrelenting growth of her unborn child forced her to remember the present. Forced her to live.

Dylan Odair was born in the sweltering stuffy heat of a midsummer afternoon. The air was so dry and close that the sea salt parched the mouths of those who breathed it in. Yet as Dylan drew his first breath the heat shattered and the clouds split open so the rain roared down from the skies.

"Can you see him, Finnick?"

Annie looked down at her newborn son with his untidy mess of dark hair- just like hers- and the brilliant green eyes of his father. It might have been a hard battle. They might have lost many soldiers on the way but this was what they had been fighting for; this moment when their son entered the world unthreatened by it.

She wondered what she would tell him. How she could ever explain how they lived before. He needed to know. He needed to understand to appreciate the value of it. He needed to know so he wouldn't forget the kind of things a boy should remember; his father's face, his words, his actions. It seemed impossible. But as the years passed them by, somehow, the words came.

"It's about a boy called Finnick who became a man too soon. He was born from the waves, a child of District Four. They say he could be like the ocean itself; he could be calm and deep or violent and tempestuous. But those who knew him best remember his playful smile- not unlike yours- his kind heart, wicked sense of humour and his poetry. His every movement was poetry, especially when he held a trident in his hand…"

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><p><strong>AN: thank you to everyone who has readreviewed/favourited/followed (etc) this story. You have all been lovely and very supportive.**

**I have been writing this fic for so long that I can hardly believe it is over. I am definitely going miss writing it (and Finnick's point of view). **

**Some of you have asked if I plan on writing another fanfiction. The answer at the moment is no as I wish to concentrate on my original fiction. However, that doesn't mean I won't come back to it eventually.**


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